


The Sketchbook

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-04
Updated: 2009-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sketching portraits of Sirius Black had been Teddy's way of avoiding life in the present for years. He never expected one of them would come to life, but then, he might have known that interacting with any kind of magical parchment invented by a Marauder would only open up one epic can of worms.</p><p>30,800 words. NC-17. Sirius/Teddy. Past Sirius/Remus. Past unrequited Sirius/Harry. Entirely canon- and Epilogue-compliant, including deaths, marriages and offspring. Teddy is 19. Written for bigbangblackout. Summer 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sketchbook

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to islandsmoke and secretsolitaire for the thorough beta work. :)

The book itself was unremarkable, so much so that upon first uncovering it Teddy quickly passed it by, reaching further into the trunk for something shinier beneath it.

The shiny thing turned out to be a broken old Remembrall with glitter pasted on, charmed to alternately flash the phrases, _David Bowie is a poof_, and _David Bowie is a space cowboy_, against the wall, depending on the angle at which one tilted the ball. Raising his eyebrows and grinning at the thing, Teddy tried to imagine the argument that might have led to the creation of a sparkly, duelling-messaged Remembrall pontificating on the various levels of brilliance that was David Bowie.

"Space cowboy, definitely," he imagined his father insisting with a firm nod of his head, chucking the glittery ball across his dorm room and falling back to his bed, laughing. "He's even got the proper suit."

"_You're_ the space cowboy, you mad bloody wanker," someone would have shot back, dodging the ball – James Potter? Peter Pettigrew? Teddy had heard all the stories and read all the books; the names nearly felt as tangible as real people to him now, these living, breathing friends of his father's whose stories had decided the fate of the Wizarding world all those years ago.

"David Bowie," a third voice would have chimed in, low and amused and commanding the attention of the other boys in the room without even trying, "is clearly both a poof _and_ a space cowboy, since each identity by its very nature demonstrates the very fucking _epitome_ of hegemonic masculinity and, you know–" he would have twirled his hand, searching for the right word – "fantasticness," he'd have concluded with a nod, jumping down from his bed and striding about the room. The others would then have been treated to a lengthy comparative lecture on the finer points of folk-Bowie versus glam-Bowie.

That, at least, was how Teddy liked to imagine Sirius Black.

"Christ. What the hell is that?"

Teddy looked up as his godfather leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest and giving him a perplexed smile. He glanced back down at the Remembrall. "What does it look like?" He tilted his head to the side.

Harry pondered this. "Looks like... more mad shit from the '70s that my dad boxed up and ordered someone to save forever and _ever_, should anything happen to him." He rolled his eyes, strolling into the room. "I've got more boxes like that than I can count. Did your gran save these?" He looked around at the boxes piled high around Teddy where he sat cross-legged on the floor. The attic was stuffy and airless on a warm day like this, and Teddy wiped his fingers over the moisture on his nose and upper lip before answering.

"Yeah. Haven't really been up here since I was, I don't know–" he thought about it – "thirteen, maybe." He threw the Remembrall and its glittery messages back in the opened box beside him, sighing. "My dad must have had about as much old shit as yours."

"They probably traded," said Harry, laughing. "_'Here, mate, you take my mangy old Remembrall in your box, and I'll take your old Stubby Boardman tour socks in mine_,'" he mocked. "That's something else, though," he added after a moment, pointing at the book Teddy had passed by as the Remembrall rolled off its smooth surface and back into the forgotten bowels of the box. "Let's have a look."

Surprised, Teddy peered to his side and fished around for the thing Harry had pointed out. "This?"

Harry nodded, squinting.

Teddy lifted the square book from its surrounding clutter and dusted it off. It was old and tattered, with a soft cover made of some sort of hide and smoothed velvet-soft with years of use and the oil of fingers keen to peruse its pages. The corners were dog-eared and peeling back in places, and the old pages had a thick, wrinkled look to them, as though they'd been dunked in the Lake and left in the sun to dry, crisp and yellow. "Dunno," he said at last, passing it to Harry. "Mangy old diary to go with the mangy old Remembrall?"

Furrowing his brow, Harry opened the cover and thumbed through the pages. "Not a diary," he muttered, more to himself than to Teddy. His forehead creased further as he inspected the book, finally reaching the back cover and turning it upside down. Nothing fell from the flaps as he shook it, although the binding looked fit to give way.

"Careful," said Teddy reflexively. He couldn't help but be a bit protective of his father's old stuff, even if it _was_ mostly silly and useless by now.

"Huh." Shrugging, Harry gave the book back to Teddy, who glanced up at him with a questioning look. "I think I've seen something like it before."

"Yeah?" Teddy thumbed through the book himself. Closing it at last, he smoothed his palm over the cover and shrugged.

"Harry!" a voice called from downstairs, and Harry grimaced, his head turning towards it. "Are you done up there? We'll be late for Dean and Parvati's luncheon."

"Give me a minute," Harry called back, his voice tight.

There was silence, and then footsteps on the stairs before the door swung open. Ginny sighed at them, leaning on the frame. "Your robes are filthy," she said, gesturing at Harry. "We need time to go home and change before–"

"I get that," snapped Harry. "I asked you to give me a minute."

Ginny's eyes flashed and the corners of her mouth turned down. Teddy glanced between them, feeling awkward.

Harry took a deep breath. "Sorry. It's just that Teddy and I were talking," he tried again, looking contrite. Ginny's face softened as she looked over at Teddy.

"Oh, sweetheart," she said to Teddy, giving him a sad smile. "I don't mean to rush you. I just thought you'd like to start decorating the place yourself, now that those fussy old doilies and floral prints are out of the way."

Teddy nodded, clenching his fingers around the book.

"Can you manage these things by yourself?" continued Ginny, pushing her hair out of her face. "We'll come back later in the week to help you with the rest." She reached out to squeeze Teddy's arm, then turned and narrowed her eyes at Harry, mouthing, _Five minutes_, before leaving the room again.

"Have a look downstairs," said Harry wearily when she'd gone. "Pick out anything of your gran's you'd like to keep, before we take the rest to Luna's foundation." He paused, smiling sadly down at Teddy. "Saw a couple of photos you might like to grab – your mum and granddad, mostly."

Swallowing and looking away, Teddy nodded. Then, to cover the emotional moment, he forced a grin and locked both hands around the old, square book. "Think I'll take this, too. Figure out the rest of this stuff later, if that's okay." He nodded around the room at the rest of his father's old boxes.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I– sure." He eyed the book, then Teddy, and Teddy could almost hear the wheels of his Auror's brain churning. That was just the way Harry was; Teddy knew he couldn't help it. "It's empty, though," he added, giving Teddy a strange look.

They both glanced down at it. After this many years of practically growing up with George's joke shop, Bill's cursed-object stories, Arthur's gadgets, and Luna's conspiracy theories – not to mention the various bits and bobs Harry had given or at least shown him over the years including a talking map and a charmed mirror, Teddy could nearly bank on the fact that he and Harry were thinking the same thing:

If the book were empty, why did it look so bloody dog-eared?

Teddy shrugged, getting to his feet with the book tucked under one arm. "Yeah, but, it was my dad's." He gave Harry a mischievous smile. "I'd like to see what it does."

Holding his slightly disapproving gaze a moment longer, Harry finally shook his head and turned to the door, grinning. "Fair enough."

That was how it began.

* * *

Teddy was an orphan, not an idiot.

He'd first discovered those hidden boxes of his father's old things a few years before, hunting around in Gran's attic the way mopey teenagers did when they were feeling too precious for outside contact but just dramatic enough for hours of introspection. Cut off from the world (or so he liked to imagine), he'd lie on the floor with his father's old Weird Sisters albums from the '70s keening from the makeshift turntable he'd hauled up there.

At least, he'd thought the albums were his father's, until the day he saw the inscription on one of them.

_6th song, remember? Won't ever think of it the same way again. Dogs aren't supposed to howl like that, you know. _

That line was followed by a silly symbol Teddy could only partially decipher: maybe a heart, or a half moon, or just a badly drawn penis; he couldn't be sure. The message, however, was fairly clear: it was silly and squiggly and had two exclamation points following it. After the symbol, there had been one more line, underlined twice.

_Never let me down again_.

The message had settled in Teddy's heart like a lock clicking in place. It wasn't explicit and it wasn't even that lewd, but it had an ache to it that didn't make sense unless he allowed himself to imagine what sort of relationship _he_ would have to be in to write a note like that to a friend.

No, not just a friend.

_Never let me down again_.

After that, Teddy had dedicated a fair bit of time to finding out everything he could about Sirius Black.

* * *

That was how the portraits started.

Teddy didn't really think of himself as an artist, more just a bloke who drew shit. It had always been easier for him, even as a child, to draw what was in his head rather than try to describe it with words either on a page or out of his mouth. Words only tended to get tangled up, he found, whereas a picture – well. Just like the saying went: worth a thousand of the damn things.

He had never drawn his parents, despite all the photographs well-meaning family and friends had given him of them over the years. He would take the photos out of their box and stare at them sometimes, imagining how a drawing would go. His fingers would clench around an imaginary charcoal pencil or a paintbrush and he'd make the right gestures in the air above the photo, just to see. But he'd never commit them to paper. It was at once too personal, somehow, and too depressing, like sending yourself flowers, or dressing carefully for a date who would only cancel. Even the thought of drawing either of them felt like carving a hole in himself and spreading it wide open.

So he drew others – Harry's kids, people wandering the foyer of the Ministry, a few random Muggles on the street if he was sitting at a café with a cigarette and too much time on his hands. He kept a studio of sorts in the spare bedroom at the back of his grandmother's house. Every time he'd come back from Hogwarts, he'd added more drawings to the walls: friends, enemies, relatives, barmaids, whatever had taken his fancy. They hung, overlapping with each other by now, over nearly every surface of the walls. Gran liked them well enough, but she'd sort of roll her eyes at him at the same time, thinking, if not saying out loud, that sketchy drawings weren't exactly the best way for a young man to make a living, and didn't he have potions revising he should be doing instead?

"Just like your mother," she'd say to him sadly, "with your head in the clouds."

But the portrait he kept going back to was that of Sirius Black. He'd found dozens of photographs of him over the years, many with his arm slung around Teddy's father but many more not. The solo images were always the ones that held Teddy's attention most, because he figured those were the ones his father must have taken, when the two of them were alone. In those ones, Sirius was always less boisterous and more contemplative. The loud grins he wore among friends diminished to pensiveness when caught alone. In some, sure, he'd clearly been posing for the camera with a silly face, but in others, Teddy couldn't help but wonder if his father had caught Sirius unawares, snapping the shutter from across the room or under the cover of shadow.

Those were the photos Teddy most liked to sketch. He could sit quietly for hours, cross-legged on his bed or on the edge of a trunk in that back room, surrounded by old photos of Sirius Black, filling page after page of yellowed notebooks with his artistic attempts. He only put the ones he liked best up on the walls – Sirius in profile, lighting a fag; Sirius slumped over a pile of library books, his eyes half-closed, one hand lodged in his hair as he leaned over on his elbow; Sirius shirtless (or maybe naked), the shot covering him only from the shoulders up, ducking his face down under his fringe and grinning, almost modestly, while reaching a hand out to shove the camera away.

Harry had only seen the gallery once, after Teddy had offered to show him some sketches he'd done of Harry's kids. Harry had barely glanced at that side of the wall, however, before his gaze had become riveted to the wall of Sirius Black.

Perplexed, Teddy had stood quietly while Harry stared at the sketches.

"He was your godfather, wasn't he?" asked Teddy quietly, already knowing the answer.

Harry didn't look at him. "Yes," he answered at last, "though only in name, mostly. I'm not sure he ever knew what he was supposed to do with the title."

Teddy smiled at that. "Never took you to Quidditch matches and sneaked you out for ice cream when your gran wasn't looking?" he teased, thinking of the things he and Harry had done as godfather and godson, but Harry's jaw tightened.

"Not much opportunity for that sort of thing."

Teddy squeezed his eyes shut. "No, sorry. I know. I was just–"

"I know. It doesn't matter." Harry sounded weary.

Teddy bit back his next words. _He was the closest thing you ever had to a father, wasn't he? And then he went and died_. He kicked himself for making Harry look at the drawings in the first place.

As if sensing his thoughts, Harry pressed his lips together and dropped his gaze to the floor. After another moment filled with silence, only the sound of Teddy's thoughts rushing past his ears, Harry turned on his heel and left. To Teddy's knowledge, he'd never entered that room again.

Pushing the encounter out of his mind, Teddy had continued to draw from various photos of Sirius.

His favourite, however, was the only one he'd never tried to draw.

In it, Sirius was dressed in Muggle clothing like a young rock star – faded jeans and thick black boots, with a leather motorcycle jacket over a tight t-shirt. He stood in front of the outline of a building Teddy didn't recognise, the sign blurred and the figures in the distance only background noise. He was turned slightly to the side, one hip jutted out, not quite posing but not unaware of the camera, either. His gaze was fixed on something to the right of the frame. One hand was tucked up in the back pocket of his jeans while the other held a cigarette to his mouth, his cheeks sucked in as he inhaled.

_The noble and most ancient house of Black_, Teddy would think to himself with a smile every time he traced that photo with his index finger. What would his family have said to him if they'd seen him like that? How brave, or stupid, Teddy was not quite sure, to be able to throw one's family aside like that, to live your own life and just say _bollocks_ to everyone else. To fall in love with whoever you wanted and flip two fingers at anyone who protested.

To fight and die protecting the people you loved most.

It was Sirius Black, the martyr, who most appealed to Teddy, even more than the image of his own father in a similar role. He just couldn't bring himself to obsess over his father (or mother, for that matter). It either hurt too much or not enough, and he wasn't sure which was worse.

Sirius Black, however, was worth obsessing over. Of that, Teddy was certain.

* * *

"So, I told my mother you're dating men now."

Teddy's lips froze around his straw and he blinked up at Victoire.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she said breezily. "She wouldn't shut up about, '_Why does Teddy not come for dinner anymore_?' and '_What did you do, so Teddy does not wish to date you_?'" She grinned around an impeccable rendition of her mother's accent, and Teddy couldn't help but snort back a laugh. "I had to tell her something."

He groaned, pushing his milkshake away.

"Well!" Her eyes narrowed. "It's _true_, isn't it? Or were you just looking for an excuse I'd believe?"

"No!" Teddy exhaled slowly, slumping back in his chair. "_Dating_ might be a strong word for what I'm doing, but in general principle, yes, I'd rather it be with men than–" He swallowed down the last word, his face hot.

"Me," she supplied for him, twisting her lips into a wry smile.

"Do we have to talk about this right now?"

She sighed, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms over her chest. She could do a formidable impression not only of her mother but her _father_ when the mood struck. He chanced a peek at her from under his fringe and found Bill Weasley's square jaw and piercing eyes etched into the softer features of her face, and he swallowed. "Janine and I saw you with Eamon Ridge-Burke near Diagon last week," she said at last. "You didn't tell me about that."

Teddy shrugged. "Nothing to tell."

"Are you dating him?"

"I told you, I'm not dating anyone. Not really."

She paused. "So you're just shagging him, then?" Her eyes danced with mischief.

"I'm not–" he began, but quickly saw that only one answer would satisfy her. "Fine," he grumbled. "Yes, I'm shagging him. All right? He's an absolute tiger in the sack, Victoire. You've no idea."

She bit her lip, leaning forward. "It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?"

He laughed despite himself, her eagerness too infectious. "I suppose it is." He didn't bother to tell her that running into an old classmate who'd only asked for a light wasn't quite the same as _dating_, and anyway, blokes like Eamon with Ministry paycheques and flats in Soho didn't exactly tend to bother with unemployed artists. Victoire, meanwhile, was a bilingual Auror trainee, adored by her hundreds of immediate family members and with friends to spare for a rainy day; she didn't really understand that not everyone had the luxury of dating, shagging or even just _being_ anyone, or anything, they wanted.

He glanced up and tried to get the attention of the waitress, but her gaze passed over him every time she scanned the café – until Victoire took pity on him and waved her hand, giving the woman a dazzling smile. He made to pull his wallet from his robes, but his pocket notebook toppled out onto the floor instead. It fell open, and Teddy made a strangled noise, diving for it.

Victoire, damn her, was faster.

She slid her foot over it before he could reach it, and glancing up at her, he saw from her arched brow that she wasn't going to leave well enough alone.

"Who's this, then?" she purred, pulling the notebook in and bending to pick it up. Teddy made a half-hearted attempt to grab for it again, but unless he wanted to knock the entire table over and make a scene, it was hopeless. The blasted thing couldn't have fallen open on a worse page, he noted miserably. Her lips parted a little bit as she took in the drawing, running the tip of her finger over the man's bare chest and torso, up to the dark hair hanging down to his shoulders, and then, slowly, down to the fitted jeans and boots that anchored him to the page.

Sirius Black was gazing out at them, the tip of his tongue peeking out against his bottom lip and his hands shoved casually in the pockets of his jeans. It was one of Teddy's favourite drawings, etched late one night in an empty station while waiting for a train.

"He's quite fit," she said with a giggle, glancing back up at Teddy at last. "Is this what you're doing with your time?"

"Fuck off," grumbled Teddy, snatching the little book back from her and shoving it in his robes.

"You're better off with the real thing than these fantasy drawings of yours," she added, lifting her chin. "Bring Eamon 'round to dinner sometime, okay? Set my mother's mind at ease." Favouring him with another trademark smile, she rose from the table, kissed his cheek, and sauntered from the café.

Alone with his drawing and the bill, Teddy sat for a long time, lost in thought.

* * *

Teddy missed his grandmother, and he wasn't quite prepared to move out of her house just yet. He liked his bedroom, for one, and he liked the way the kitchen faucet worked, for another. The shower had good water pressure, unlike most of the flats people his age seemed to complain about, and he felt at home here. Besides, no one was paying an unemployed artist enough to keep his own flat anyway. Might as well live for free, till he figured out what he wanted to do with his life.

Before he figured out any of that, though, he wanted to figure out the strange old book he'd taken from his father's things in the attic the week before. It had sat, untouched, on his bedside table for days, as Teddy had sneaked glances at it, wondering if it would come alive at some point when he wasn't looking.

After all, his father had possessed an awful lot of other innocent-looking objects that could come alive – if one knew the secret handshake, so to speak.

He sat down on his bed and opened the book carefully, thumbing through the pages. Empty. Completely empty. He frowned. It still didn't sit right with him that an empty book should look so used. _Be careful of writing in empty books if you don't know where they came from_, Harry had warned him over tea later that evening, but Teddy had just rolled his eyes. There wouldn't have been a Dark object sitting untouched in Gran's attic for this many years; he was certain of that.

After considering it for another moment, he got up to grab his pencils from the desk and regarded a blank page of the book. If _writing_ in it would only invite trouble, at least according to Harry, then maybe he should start by drawing in it. He took his favourite photograph of Sirius Black out of the drawer, the one with the leather jacket and the jeans, and hesitated. He'd never drawn this one before.

Well, he decided, maybe it was time.

He set the photo beside a blank page of the book and worked for half an hour, sketching lines and carefully shading in places.

Teddy tilted his head to the side and appraised his work thus far. The lines weren't quite right; too much charcoal; nose in the wrong place. But it also wasn't bad, he decided. A fair approximation. His gaze shifted to the grainy photograph, and he raised his index finger to it, tucking the charcoal pencil under his thumb. With a light, whispered touch, he traced the edge of the photo and then crept closer to Sirius's face. The photo wasn't Muggle, at least not as far as Teddy knew, but its subject nonetheless held himself still, the occasional quirking of his lips the only giveaway of the magic lurking under the surface.

Teddy's breath caught once again at the sheer beauty of the man in the photo, and now the drawing beside it. Smiling a little to himself, he let his index finger slide down to the hollow of Sirius's charcoal throat. "I solemnly swear that I would _like_ to be up to no good," he purred, feeling his face heat even though no one was around to see or hear him. Well, he decided, at least there wasn't any mystery about what his father had seen in this man. The mystery was only what his father had ever seen in his _mother_, a question Teddy wasn't quite ready to –

"That's really rather filthy of you, don't you think? We hardly know each other."

Teddy's finger stopped dead at the sound of the voice, and his stomach did a slow, steady flip. He kept his eyes on the book, not willing to look up.

"Although..." the voice continued, and Teddy swore he could feel new eyes burning through him. "... that's not a _no_, mind. Might have to buy me a drink first, is all." The voice was low and seductive but lined with amusement, like a prank that ended in sweaty sheets and laughing moans. Like a dare that started with a raid on the girls' knickers but ended with the pranksters' own pants hanging from the doorknob, firm flesh and planes of muscle seeking friction and relief.

Teddy finally looked up.

In the chair across the room sat Sirius Black.

The telltale grey eyes were locked on Teddy, full lips arranged half in awe, half in a smirk. He was as young as in the photo, wearing that motorcycle jacket and black boots with jeans and a t-shirt. He held a cigarette between his first two fingers where they hung over the side of the chair. Unable to look anywhere else, Teddy's gaze followed the thin trail of smoke as it rose to the ceiling and vanished.

They stared at each other for entirely too long. Teddy was unable to speak; Sirius only looked vaguely confused, but still amused.

"All right," offered Sirius at last, bringing the fag to his lips and taking a deep drag. His gaze remained fixed on Teddy. "You seem new at this."

Teddy gaped at him, mouth working but no sound coming out.

Rolling his eyes, Sirius stood up and began shrugging out of the jacket, holding the cigarette in place between his lips as he did so. "Did Moon– er, Remus tell you the deal already?" He glanced around. "Usually he gets here first." He sighed. "All right, no matter. He won't be long. You must have already agreed, though, wherever he found you?"

Teddy blinked at him. "I– yeah," he said, before he could even think about what he was saying. "I agreed. What's– _God_." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "What's your name?"

Sirius grinned at him, holding the cigarette in his mouth again as he grabbed his t-shirt at the bottom and tugged it over his head. "Fuck," he muttered as the fag caught on the fabric. Throwing it to the floor, he stamped a boot over the singed cotton, took one last drag, and then dropped the fag as well, smothering it into the floorboards. "Does it matter?" he asked at last.

Teddy was too busy staring at his chest to remember what the question had been. He was tanned and lean, not heavily muscled but with just enough definition to make it clear that he had quite a bit of strength to him, should he decide to use it. "Not really," he breathed before he could stop himself, and a slow, predatory grin spread over Sirius's face.

"Didn't think so," he murmured. He glanced back over his shoulder at the door. "Did he say he'd be here soon?" His face wore an expression of pure mischief, coloured with faint whispers of desire.

Teddy nodded. Slowly, he let the sketchbook and photo slide from his lap. "Just, was looking at something," he offered, tilting it away from Sirius, but he didn't seem to care. Teddy quickly flipped the photo over to cover the drawing, placed the book on the floor and stood up. His lips parted as he took in the image of his father's old lover, not a day over twenty, if Teddy had to guess, standing half naked in Teddy's bedroom.

And evidently unaware that he _was_ an image, or an apparition, or –

Teddy couldn't bear thinking about the more sinister explanations for what Sirius might be. "Yeah," stammered Teddy. "Soon."

Sirius paused, considering him. "You're just adorable, aren't you?" He grinned, sauntering towards Teddy. He stopped right in front of him, brushing the dark hair off his own brow before reaching the same hand towards Teddy's face. He cupped his cheek for a moment before sweeping his hand down and capturing Teddy's chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger. "Well," he breathed, "I am more than happy with the person who'll be joining us, so don't get any ideas in your pretty little head." He paused, brushing his thumb over Teddy's lower lip. "But he _does_ have a bit of a kinky side. One thing he likes an awful lot, though he'd never admit it, poor soul–" Sirius was almost purring now, his voice low at Teddy's ear – "is to happen upon me already having started without him, so to speak." He tilted Teddy's chin up and placed a tiny kiss on his lips. "What do you think of that?"

All the air seemed to rush out of Teddy's lungs at once. So, the pair of them used to go out regularly and pick up men to– to –

The low rush of Sirius's words rang in his ears, and his body responded with heat and anticipation to the proposal. _Oh God, I can't. _The words flashed through his mind, but he was too starved for touch, too flustered by this sudden presentation of his father's sex life right in front of his eyes, too infatuated with the photograph of Sirius Black that he'd been mooning over for years now, if he were honest with himself. With all those things racing through him, it was perhaps no wonder that only the first two words of the planned protest made it through his lips.

"Oh, God," he murmured, his hands flying to his stomach where he pulled at his own t-shirt until it awkwardly came off over his head. He discarded it and clutched Sirius around the back of the neck, pulling him close and claiming those full, red lips.

Laughing, Sirius kissed him back, but with infinitely more finesse. He steadied Teddy's face with his own hands, fingers sliding into Teddy's hair above his ears as he drew him down and in, gentle pressure from Sirius's mouth eventually giving way to more urgency. Sirius parted his lips and slipped his tongue over Teddy's, tasting him with a light insistence that made Teddy moan into his mouth. "You know, you rather look like him," murmured Sirius, moving his mouth away to place biting kisses down Teddy's neck. "I'll have to ask him later what pervy desires made him pick his mirror image for us to fuck tonight." He laughed softly against Teddy's neck, while his fingers dropped to Teddy's trousers.

Teddy bit down over the moan that he should _not_ have been making at those words.

He did moan then, as Sirius pushed his trousers down and pressed him down on his back on the bed, crawling over top of him with his own jeans and boots still on. Teddy kicked one leg at the other to free his trousers and pants from one ankle, leaving them pooled around the other. He never did things this impulsive, never had sex with strangers or gave in to passing fancies like this, and he wasn't entirely certain there wasn't a great deal of Dark magic at work here, but _Sirius Black_ was hovering over him, face flushed and dark hair sweeping into his eyes, and he was licking his lips like he wanted to devour Teddy whole and still come back for more, and Teddy couldn't think of a single bloody way to say no, not when he was already nearly naked and desperately wanting.

"All right?" Sirius sat back a fraction, eyeing him.

Gathering himself, Teddy closed his eyes, panting. "Yeah. Of course."

When he opened his eyes again, Sirius was still giving him an appraising look. "You _have_ done this before, yeah?" He gave Teddy a significant look. "With blokes?"

Exasperated and embarrassed to be called out on what looked like his virginal reluctance, Teddy grasped Sirius's waistband and started unzipping his jeans. "Clearly," he muttered.

Sirius grinned again as Teddy pushed Sirius's jeans down his hips and leaned forward, stroking his cock in one smooth movement until the head hit his lips. Parting them, he gathered saliva on his tongue and set about pulling Sirius's cock into his mouth. "Oh yeah," murmured Sirius, breathless. "You've done this before."

The only thought Teddy could muster at that point was that Sirius sure as hell didn't _taste_ like an apparition that had appeared out of a sodden old book. He tasted warm and alive and wet with arousal.

"Mm, slow down." Panting, Sirius pushed Teddy back, watching his cock slip from Teddy's mouth and then letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment as if to collect himself. "Not gonna last till Remus gets here," he muttered, running a hand over his face.

Momentarily stunned back to his right mind by the mention of his father, Teddy dropped his eyes and wiped his hand slowly over his swollen mouth, not daring to look up at Sirius again. A crushing feeling of betrayal overwhelmed him and he swallowed around a mouthful of bile. His _father's lover_. This was insane. Whatever had come over him, it had to be Dark magic. He had to get this form, this spectre, this _thing_ back into the sketchbook somehow – and avoid having a rousing bit of sex with it before doing so, for God's sake.

Sirius touched him again then, gently tilting his face up once more and regarding him with curiosity. "You look a _lot_ like him," he said, more guarded this time, his finger hooked under Teddy's chin.

"I– Metamorphmagus," blurted Teddy, swallowing and turning his face away. "Thought you might like it." He prayed that the younger Sirius Black didn't know the younger version of Teddy's mother very well, and wouldn't think to put two and two together. Taking a deep breath, Teddy exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, concentrating on his face and hair. He focused on shifting his hair colour from the dusty brown that was, apparently, too much like his father's, to something more like James's thick auburn. He felt his nose shift and his cheekbones widen a bit.

He opened his eyes at the sound of Sirius letting out a low chuckle, his hand sliding up Teddy's bare chest. "That was hot," he declared, and Teddy found that Sirius's grin was infectious. "But put it back," added Sirius, his voice rough against Teddy's cheek. Teddy swallowed around the realisation that Sirius _wanted_ Teddy to look like his father, exhaling as he dropped the glamour.

He reached out and grasped Sirius around the back of the neck again, hauling him down for a bruising kiss just to hear Sirius's laughter turn to a deep moan rumbling up from his chest. Pulling back, he nudged Teddy to turn over and trapped his hips, straddling him from behind and leaning over to pepper kisses down his bare back.

Groaning and pushing back against him, Teddy rose to his knees and bared himself, desperate for touch.

Sirius paused, one finger trailing lightly down Teddy's spine and over the top of his cleft. "Yeah?" he whispered, that one word loaded with so much more.

Panting, Teddy fell down to his elbows with a moan. "_Yeah_," he murmured into the pillow.

Sirius fell over his back with no other prompting, groaning a laugh. "You're going to get me in trouble," he purred against Teddy's back as his fingers slipped down Teddy's cleft. "You promise to be this good to my mate when he gets here?" he added, leaving open-mouthed kisses down Teddy's spine. "Spread yourself so nicely like this for him, too?"

Teddy closed his eyes against the image that invoked and tried to focus only on the feel of worn denim against the backs of his thighs as Sirius moved against him. _I'm allowed this one indiscretion, this one damn time, and then he'll go back into that book somehow and I'll never see him again_, he told himself. And anyway, he reasoned, this wasn't real, and his father was dead and –

_He's dead, and I look just like him, and this is his _lover_, for God's sake, and I can't, I can't –_  
  
He didn't have time to debate it before a wet tongue pushed at his entrance, and Teddy gasped into the pillow. He arched his back because he couldn't have stayed still if he'd tried. His body opened a bit more with each warm, wet stroke, Sirius's thumbs holding him open as his long fingers stretched across to Teddy's hips.

"Oh God, stop. I can't–" With another gasping moan into his folded arms, he struggled to pull away from the over stimulation. As he did, he heard the tiny whisper of a few telltale words.

Teddy dropped his head between his shoulders again and shivered, because Sirius was already pushing forward, entering him with a slow, steady thrust that made Teddy's thighs quiver and nearly give out. The zip of Sirius's open jeans slid coolly up Teddy's leg, the denim rubbing against his balls as Sirius pushed in all the way, panting over Teddy's back. "Christ," he murmured, swallowing. "All right?"

"God. Yeah." Teddy closed his eyes for only a brief second before pressing his hips back. "Come on."

That, he soon learned, was all the encouragement Sirius Black needed. Warm hands smoothed over Teddy's chest, stomach, and down to the front of his thighs as Sirius fell into a slow but commanding rhythm, pressing forward just as Teddy's last moan had dried up and he was taking a breath. Teddy soon became almost embarrassed at how much panting and grunting he was doing; he wasn't usually so noisy during sex, he didn't think, but this man felt _so fucking good_, his thick cock catching over the edges of Teddy's nerve endings with each slippery-rough slide. He was like jagged glass as he thrust, and Teddy soon had his legs spread even wider as he struggled to get more of Sirius inside, _come on, more_, desperate to keep his blood racing like this forever, his skin on fire and his body surging with pleasure.

"Can you come like this?" breathed Sirius, his lips hot over Teddy's shoulder blades, and Teddy had to pause to whimper at the thought. His own cock was almost fully hard, kept just shy of full arousal by the searing jolts to his body with every thrust.

"Don't know," managed Teddy. "Don't want to. You, oh. _Oh_." He paused to breathe, a shuddering lungful of air wracking his body. "You first."

Those words seemed to inspire something urgent in Sirius. Teddy thought he heard a muttered, "_Fuck_" against the low creaking of the bedsprings, and then his fingers were crawling towards the bars of the headboard for support as Sirius slammed into him, gripping him tight around the hips with both hands. The trail of hair low on his stomach tickled at Teddy's arse, and he savoured the last, pounding sensations of being fucked, _hard_, and by this dream of a man, of all people.

His muscles tensed right along with Sirius's as he felt the man's fingers dig into him, clutching him tightly. His cock thickened inside Teddy and stilled, pulsing against his bruised inner walls and seeping into him, through him, and back out. "Stay," grunted Teddy, still tingling from the warmth of Sirius against his back, his cock still lodged inside. Teddy balanced himself on one elbow and pushed his other hand down between his body and the mattress, grasping his cock.

Sirius's mouth moved along Teddy's back, his firm fingers pressing into Teddy's ribcage and sliding down to his hips. It only took a few strokes for Teddy to come, bathing his fist in warm wetness before he slumped over, panting. Sirius pulled out slowly at that, and they both flopped down to the bed, catching their breath.

"That," declared Sirius after a moment, "did not take nearly long enough. Wait'll I tell Remus that one – oh, hey, mate, we were trying to get you to catch us in the middle, but it was so fucking good that we finished in three bloody minutes."

A new wave of mortification sweeping over him, Teddy could only snort back a horrified laugh.

He lay there a few moments longer, trying to freeze the moment and preserve it forever; he'd have coaxed it into a tiny ball and put it in his pocket if he could. Fleetingly, he wondered if a Pensieve would work for a memory in which one party was not actually there, or at least only there through some unnamed magic. He pushed the thought away and glanced over at Sirius, who was breathing evenly now, staring up at the ceiling with a neutral look on his face.

In all the photographs, Teddy didn't think he'd ever seen Sirius Black look _neutral_. He turned onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. "I'm sorry," he murmured, worrying his bottom lip.

Surprised, Sirius glanced over. "What for?"

Teddy managed a shrug with the shoulder propping him up. "You said we should wait for– for–" he swallowed – "but I made you keep going, and now you, I don't know. Feel like a dick, right?"

Sirius stared at him for a long moment before a grin began to tug at the corners of his mouth. "Little bit," he agreed, turning at last and pushing himself off the bed. He hauled his jeans back up his hips and fastened them, then began digging around on the floor for his discarded shirt. "He's used to that, though," he added, the thin cotton muffling his voice as he found the shirt and pulled it over his head. When he was dressed again, he turned to face the bed, hands on his hips.

He appraised Teddy and Teddy let him look, closing his eyes briefly against the embarrassment over his nakedness. He'd kicked the rest of his trousers off the remaining ankle while Sirius was dressing and half-covered himself with the bedspread. He couldn't help it: he felt fucked and debauched and still wet with Sirius's come, and he could barely think straight let alone process what he must look like.

Dropping his eyes and grinning, Sirius shook his head and turned to the door. "Thanks, mate. That was genius," he said casually, grasping the doorknob. "If Remus shows up, tell him, uh–" he scratched his chin – "well, just send him back home. I'll take care of him." With another half smile, he opened the door and made to step out into the hallway.

Blinking himself back to his right mind at last, Teddy sat up. _The hallway_. "Wait," he began, rubbing his eyes. "I don't think you can–"

Right on cue, Sirius almost visibly bounced back from the doorframe. The path out to the hallway _seemed_ clear through the open door, but Sirius had rebounded off of it as if he'd tried to charge right through the door. "Jesus fuck," he muttered, rubbing his forehead. Cautiously, he raised his hand again and pushed it through the air in front of him. Once more, when he hit the invisible line of the doorway, it was as though the air turned to brick. His hand pushed against something that seemed solid, though they couldn't see it. Looking in wonder at his hand for a moment, something seemed to occur to him.

"Shit," Teddy was muttering now, scrambling for his clothes. "Shit, _shit_."

Sirius turned on him, eyes narrowed. "What have you got wards on your bedroom for, mate?" His voice took on a dangerous edge. He paused, his hand slipping into his jacket. "Not trying to trap me here, are you?" He pulled out his wand and trained it on Teddy. "_Incarcerous_!" he bellowed, barely giving Teddy a chance to dive behind the bed.

_He can't do magic in this state_, Teddy reasoned, but then a wisp of rope shot over his head and fell against the wall. He stared at it.

"Who sent you, you little shit? Lestrange?"

"No!" cried Teddy. "Just, quit firing hexes at me! My wand's downstairs."

"Then you'd better find another way to open your fucking wards," snarled Sirius, his eyes blazing and his wand aimed straight at Teddy where he still huddled beside the bed. "I ain't getting captured by some easy fucking rent boy on my cousin's dime." He laughed at that, dark and dangerous. "Did she tell you this'd be easy? Fucking cunt." He narrowed his eyes. "Come on, get up and fight like a fucking man, then."

Shit, _shit_. Panicking, Teddy darted his eyes around and finally saw the edge of the open sketchbook where it had fallen under the bed. Grasping for it, he slid it out and only had seconds to marvel at the smudged charcoal drawing on the open page, as still and lifeless as it had ever been, before he took the only action he could think of.

"I don't _want_ to fucking hurt you," Sirius was saying, "not when you're that good a lay. But you've got five seconds to get out here before I hex your balls off, you little–"

Teddy slammed the book closed.

All that was left of Sirius's sentence was a hasty puff of air.

Teddy sat panting on the floor for several long seconds before he dared to peek over the bed. Crawling onto his hands and knees, he peered over, his eyes darting to every corner of the room. Finally, he stood up as slowly as his legs would allow without giving way entirely. The room echoed with thick silence.

He was alone.

Glancing down at his chest, he saw the come still streaked there and, shifting his stance, felt the same between his legs. Eyes wide, he stared at the innocent book on the floor, its heavy cover weighing down the all too real ghost of a portrait.

* * *

"Get in here, you berk!" whispered Victoire, motioning frantically at him while sneaking a glance over her shoulder. "You're twenty minutes late; Mum's going to do her _nut_ in a second! Where have you been? Where's Eamon? What on _earth _are you wearing? Merlin's bloody tits, Teddy, how am I meant to–"

"Shut _up_," Teddy snapped in whisper form, sliding into the chair beside her and giving her a pleading look.

She paused, narrowing her eyes. After one more glance over her shoulder to ensure her mother hadn't come back into the room yet, she tilted her head to the side. "Where's Eamon?" she repeated, glaring at him. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything, so don't start with me." He pointed his index finger at her, slopping wine over his glass as he hurried to fill it. "He had to work, so..." He didn't meet her eyes.

"Mum thinks you've made him up!" exclaimed Victoire in a hushed whisper. "No, she _really_ thinks it. If you can't prove you've got a bloke at home, and _quick_, she'll be back to planning our wedding, and I will _not_ have that talk with her for the fifteenth bloody time, just because–"

"Next time," Teddy seethed from between clenched teeth. "Okay?"

Just as she was about to snap out another response, a new voice drowned her out.

"We cannot wait all night! Where is he, hm?" Fleur's footsteps echoed across the kitchen tiles toward the dining room, and Teddy squeezed his eyes closed. "Your father has an early meeting in the morning! If Teddy wishes to speak with him then it must be soon! And the cheese is growing soft now; what on earth should I–" She strode into the dining room, fine blue robes trailing behind her, and stopped short. "Ah," she tutted, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at Teddy.

He opened his mouth to apologise when another voice came from the stairs.

"It's not that early in the morning," grumbled Bill, swatting Teddy playfully on the back of the head as he entered the dining room and grasped the back of a chair by one big hand, hauling it out and dropping into it. "Bloody starving, though." He smirked at Teddy. "Don't much care if you're here or not," he told him, "but the rest of us aren't allowed to lift a fork till you are, you know."

Victoire matched her father's grin. "_And_ we've got to listen to–"

"What?" Fleur appeared again with a hot dish hovering above her wand. "What must you listen to? _Honestly_, the two of you." She huffed at Bill and Victoire before exiting again to retrieve more dishes. They exchanged an amused look.

"So," said Bill, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. "Where's this lad of yours, then? I hear we simply _must_ meet him." He grinned as he emphasised the word, darting a fond glance towards his wife in the kitchen. Teddy groaned, kneading his forehead. Sometimes he found himself missing the old days, when he'd been dating Victoire and Bill had barely spoken to him, choosing instead to express himself only through malicious glares directed at Teddy's crotch. He had been entirely too pleased to hear of their split, as far as Teddy was concerned.

"Yes, well, he had to work," explained Teddy, spreading his hands.

"Aha, of course he did." Bill reached to take the lid off the first dish, earning a sound smack on his hand from Fleur as she trundled by. "Ow." He glanced over again, shaking out his hand. "Teddy Lupin and the Invisible Boyfriend, yeah? Getting to be a running joke around here, you know. Even Charlie used to bring his middle-of-the-night roadside hand jobs 'round for tea in the morning. Percy was the only one up," he added, laughing. "Used to call them the teabagger party without the– _ow_."

"Men!" Fleur threw her hands up, dropping into her chair at last and flicking another light slap at Bill's wrist with her wand. "Language at the table, please," she added sweetly.

Teddy endured the teasing with as much patience as he could muster, nodding politely at Fleur when she asked about his latest bartending job and talking with the others about a variety of things as best he could, even though his mind was decidedly elsewhere.

He'd barely spoken to anyone since before Gran... well. What did it matter? He could hardly care about making small talk with the Weasleys when all he could think of was the way his thighs were still pleasantly stretched from parting them too far the night before; the way even the shadow of a thought of what he'd _done_ last night made his prick ache and all the air leave his lungs.

"How are you doing otherwise?" asked Bill quietly, leaning back in his chair and nursing his wine, startling Teddy out of his reverie.

"What?"

Bill gave him a patient smile. "You must miss her," he nudged.

"Oh. Yeah. But I'm– okay." Teddy considered that answer. "It's strange that she's gone. You know?" His fingers twisted around the stem of his wineglass. "Just, even at Hogwarts, there was always a letter from her, or some shit parcel to deal with." He swallowed a grin, but it disappeared as it occurred to him to ask something else. "You know, I was looking through some stuff in her attic last week, found this old book of my dad's."

Bill perked up. "Yeah? What kind of book?"

"Just some sort of– well, I don't even know. A sketchbook, it looks like." He raised his eyes. "Did he ever draw?"

Bill blinked at him. "Draw? Well, that I wouldn't know. Not that I saw. But that doesn't mean he didn't. Maybe you could ask–" Wincing, Bill closed his mouth.

Teddy covered the awkwardness with a small laugh. "Not really anyone left to ask," he pointed out, and Bill pressed his lips together.

"Sorry."

"It's all right. You're the last person alive who knew him. Maybe Charlie too, I guess, eh?"

Bill nodded wearily, pushing a strand of hair out of his face. "My parents," he added. "McGonagall and some of the other teachers, I guess. And Harry."

"Harry was just a kid, though," Teddy pointed out. "He wouldn't have known things like that."

Bill barked a rueful laugh. "Harry's never been just a kid. For what it's worth," he added after a moment, "Harry used to say that the time he spent at Grimmauld Place that year, with your dad and Sirius – well, it was brief, but he says they were some of the happiest times of his life. Ask him," he added. "Might be surprised what he knows."

* * *

The next night, Teddy sat with the book again, eager – if apprehensive – to see what would happen if he opened it once more to the page of his sketch.

Tracing the spine of the book with one finger, he took a deep breath. He found the right page by rifling through in little peeks. Heart hammering in his chest, he squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for Sirius to jump off the page as he found it and opened the book fully.

Nothing happened.

He cracked one eye open, peering down at the drawing. It was unchanged from the day before, every smudged black edge and dusky bit of shadow exactly the way he'd drawn it. Teddy paused for a moment to take in the image of Sirius once more, his breath hitching a little bit, as it always did, at the man's sheer beauty. Without thinking, he grabbed his pencil from the bedside drawer and squinted at the page again. He shaded in a bit more jut to Sirius's jaw, now that he'd seen him in person, and darkened the shading on his leather jacket. Pleased with himself, he sat back, appraising it and wondering what key unlocked the magic inside.

"I... solemnly swear I just... want to talk to you," he tried, frowning. "I mean, or, up to no good, we can do that again, obviously. That was amazing." He hesitated, letting out a breathless little laugh. "But you were sort of trying to kill me when you left, or, I mean, when I made you go away again, and I think we should probably talk about that. Just, if you don't mind coming back and all."

Nothing.

With a sigh of frustration, he put the book down on the bedside table, holding it open with a second book over most of the page and the binding. He kept Sirius's portrait visible, though, squinting at the imperfections and making a mental note to fix it up more another time. Thinking about Sirius Black in the flesh, Teddy sank back against the pillows and let his hand roam over his stomach and down to his groin.

He palmed himself lightly through his trousers, his mind wandering back to the previous night. It _had_ been real, hadn't it? His arse was certainly sore enough that if it hadn't been real, he was really going to have to wonder what the hell _did_ happen, and possibly check into St Mungo's for a psychiatric evaluation.

He scoffed at that. Of course it had been real. He was dead certain of it. He didn't completely understand the magic that had caused it, but he could look into that another time. For now, he wanted only to gaze at the drawing of Sirius and fall into his blissful memory of being spread out on his bed the night before, Sirius tracing the line of his spine with his tongue, his chest hard and his nipples rough where they slid against Teddy's shoulder blades. It had been awhile since he'd been fucked so perfectly – if ever – and now there was no way he could go back to sleeping with ordinary blokes after he'd been with _Sirius Black_.

Not even bothering to hide his moans now, he cupped his prick through his trousers and pressed down, his mouth falling open and his neck arching against the pillow.

"No, please, don't stop on my account."

Teddy's eyes flew open at the sound of the amused voice, and he saw Sirius sitting in the chair across the room again, just like he'd been the night before, dressed exactly the same – exactly as he was in Teddy's portrait. "Wasn't going to," said Teddy, suppressing a grin and, despite his embarrassment, forcing himself to keep his hand on his groin.

"So, we meet again," said Sirius, and Teddy held his breath, waiting for Sirius to acknowledge the near-battle they'd had the night before. "You ready to tell me about those wards, yet? I'm not thrilled with making last-ditch Apparition escapes when I'm off-duty, you know. Get enough of that in daylight."

Teddy's mind raced. "Oh. Um, this neighbourhood isn't exactly friendly sometimes to... blokes like me."

Sirius barked a laugh, the tension melting from his body. He kicked a leg out and relaxed into the chair, and Teddy breathed a sigh of relief. "That's it? You've got wards up to the nth degree to keep out the queer bashers? Jesus. You should move house."

Teddy grinned. "Yeah. Got this place for cheap, though."

"Mm." Glancing around, Sirius's gaze paused on the sketch open on the bedside table. Teddy froze again. Rising slowly, Sirius sauntered over and peered down at it, evidently focusing only on the sketch itself, not the book hosting it. His face clouded over for a long moment, as Teddy held his breath. Sirius's brow creased in concentration, his eyes sliding out of focus and staring at the empty air above the book. Finally, he blinked and turned to Teddy, covering the odd moment with a smile. "Is that supposed to be me?"

Teddy felt his face flush. "Uh, yeah," he stammered, finally lifting his hand from his groin and folding it with the other in his lap, trying not to fidget. "It's not very good, I know," he added in a rush, "but I couldn't stop thinking about you last night, and I draw a little bit sometimes, to relax, so I–" he broke off, blinking up at Sirius and wondering what his reaction would be.

"So, you drew me," he said quietly to Teddy, sitting down on the edge of the bed, clasping his hands together and leaning forward on his elbows. He ducked his head behind his hair and looked almost shy, not an emotion Teddy had ever guessed Sirius Black was capable of, from the looks of his photographs. "Why?"

It was Teddy's turn to flush, dropping his gaze. "Because... I thought you were..."

Sirius cocked his head to the side, grinning.

"...interesting."

Sirius's face fell. A flash of annoyance passed over it. "Just _interesting_?"

Ducking his head again, Teddy tried to cover his own smile. "Yeah."

Sirius cleared his throat. "Not... gorgeous, brilliant, _fascinating_, irresistible..."

Laughing, Teddy raised his head at last, grinning openly at Sirius like a lovestruck fool. Dammit. "Fine," he allowed. He paused, fiddling with the edge of the page. "I thought you were the most beautiful bloke I'd ever seen," he murmured. "Okay?"

That delicious grin spread over Sirius's face again, and he wet his lips without taking his eyes off Teddy. "That's more like it," he said in a low voice. He leaned over, gently pushing his fingers through Teddy's hair before bending down to kiss the top of his head. He took a deep breath as Teddy held his, not daring to move. "You smell fucking fantastic," murmured Sirius against Teddy's hair.

In another second, he was pushing Teddy back against the bed and crawling on top of him. His lips found Teddy's and enveloped him in warmth, making Teddy tremble right down to his toes. He moaned, parting his lips and arching up against Sirius's body. His hands circled the back of Sirius's neck as he drew him further down, desperate to feel Sirius's weight on him, pressing into him, devouring him.

"I think I'm sorry I tried to kill you the other night," murmured Sirius against Teddy's mouth, moaning a stifled laugh and pushing his tongue against Teddy's.

Teddy's hands moved down to grip Sirius's arse, hauling him in closer. Sirius remembered. Thank God. Teddy grinned. "You tried to _kill_ me? Christ, all I heard was the binding spell."

Laughing, Sirius moved his mouth down to pepper kisses over Teddy's throat.

A question niggling at the back of his mind, Teddy forced himself to stop Sirius, pushing him away enough to look into his eyes. "Hey. I thought you had a bloke at home," he said cautiously, his heart beating too fast.

A look of pure bewilderment crossed Sirius's face for a moment, and he turned away, gazing at the sketch and then up at the wall. "Oh," he said at last. "Yeah. I do. I– think I do." Turning back to Teddy, the confusion melted into a seductive smile. "Well, he didn't mind last time, did he? I'll bring him next time – share you around. What do you say to that?"

Teddy squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his conscience down. Just once more, he reasoned. It wouldn't matter. Then he'd put the book away for good, stop these insane conversations with a man who didn't exist. "I say... next time is next time." Teddy pulled Sirius down again, his hands threading through his thick dark hair. "And this time is this time."

"Fair enough," said Sirius, his fingers moving to unbutton Teddy's shirt. Floating away on a cloud of bliss, Teddy relaxed into the soft comfort of the bed, surrendering once again to the man he'd loved since he first saw his photo all those years ago.

* * *

The following night, Teddy hesitated. Smoothing his palm over the cover of the book, he tried to map out all the reasons he should never open it again. He knew it was mad to keep this up, but it didn't _feel_ wrong, not really; he wasn't hurting anyone, not anyone still alive, at least. He thumbed the book open to the page of the sketch but paused before saying anything out loud.

He gazed at the sketch for a long time, memorising the lines and curves and the way the shadows dipped. It really wasn't a bad piece of art, all things considered. If he could do it again, he'd have slanted the shoulders a bit differently, but for the most part, it was a damn accurate version of –

"Teddy! Are you up there, love?"

He heard the Floo roar to life downstairs and, annoyed, he set the book down. There was a clunking sound followed by swearing and bickering, and Teddy sighed, rising and heading out to the landing. "Up here, Ginny," he called.

"Give the boy some peace, Bill," he heard her mutter, "and grab this box while you're here."

"I'm not going to _bother_ him, Gin. I just want to see that book."

"What did Harry say about it that makes it so damn interesting, anyway?" She aimed her wand at a pile of boxes and tidied them into neat rows. "Didn't tell _me_ anything about it," she added under her breath.

Teddy frowned, glancing back over his shoulder and feeling suddenly protective towards the book.

"Teddy! All right up there?" Bill called, and sighing, Teddy descended the stairs, forcing a smile.

"Hey." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "What's going on?"

Ginny gave him another sad smile, reaching out to pat his arm. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugged, wishing they'd leave. "Fine."

She glanced around, zapping a few clumps of dust with her wand before sighing and turning back to him. "You shouldn't shut yourself away in here," she scolded, but her tone was soft. "I know how–" She paused, gesturing at Bill. "_We_ know what it's like to lose someone close. We're your family too, you know, if you ever need–"

"I know." He scowled down at the carpet, feeling awkward. "Thanks."

"Harry told me about that book you mentioned," Bill began, standing authoritatively beside Ginny and making Teddy feel, as usual, like a misbehaving child.

"Yeah, so?" He clamped his mouth shut over his harsh reply.

Bill eyed him curiously. "Can I have a look at it?"

"Why?" he snapped, folding his arms over his chest and hunching over.

"Teddy!" said Ginny in that voice she generally reserved for her own children. "We're not going to take it away from you. It was your dad's; you deserve to have it. Harry thought it seemed suspicious, and Bill's got experience with objects like that. Let's have a quick look, okay?"

"It's fine; there's nothing wrong with it," he shot back, scowling. "I don't even know where I put it."

Bill looked him up and down, his face unreadable. After a lengthy pause, he crossed his arms. "You've got ten seconds to bring me that book, son," he said in a tone that brooked no argument, "or I'll go up there and get it myself."

Alarmed, Teddy gave in. "Fine," he muttered. Even though he wasn't dating Victoire anymore, Teddy still found her father more than a little intimidating. He trudged upstairs and retrieved the book, closing it and tucking it under his arm as he returned to the living room. He passed it over to Bill without a word.

Ginny continued picking at boxes, rearranging piles and taping them up while sparing a glance at the book every so often. Teddy hovered near the door of the room, watching over the book with a tug of protectiveness. Only one page of it held a drawing, but that one page was more valuable to Teddy than anything else at the moment. He couldn't let Bill take it away from him.

Bill, meanwhile, studied it from every angle, drawing his wand from his robes to poke at it a few times. He opened it at different points in the binding, shook it upside down, and tested for physical abnormalities before apparently switching to a magical diagnosis.

Moving his wand over the cover and murmuring a string of words Teddy didn't understand – not English, and definitely not Latin – Bill performed a series of spells until the book began to glow a faint blue. Rather than blinking in wonder at that, as Teddy found himself doing, Bill only scowled at it, looking impatient. "Well, obviously," he muttered. Next, Bill crossed his wand over it until a three dimensional blueprint of the book rose above it, rotating in front of them. Bill studied the lines of it for a long time, squinting and bending his knees and head to look underneath it.

Finally, Bill snapped his fingers and the diagram disappeared into thin air, leaving only the old book sitting in Bill's free hand. He looked up at Teddy. "What are you planning to do with it?"

Teddy blinked at him. "Nothing," he answered too quickly.

Bill opened it again and held the pages in one fist, skimming through them with his thumb.

"Come on, give it here. It's just an empty sketchbook." He made to reach for it, but Bill held it up, turning to the side a bit as he continued to let the pages fall through his fingers. Halfway through, he stopped.

Teddy gave a huff of annoyance.

Silence filled the room, and after as long as he could stand it, Teddy sneaked a glance at Bill. He was staring at an open page, his face a mask. Teddy bit down on the excuses and explanations filling his mouth, saying nothing.

Finally, Bill looked up at him. "You're still drawing pictures of him? Thought maybe you'd outgrown that."

Ginny paused where she'd been kneeling to tuck a stray bit of blanket into a box. She looked up at them before rising and moving closer.

Clenching his jaw, Teddy glared. "Uh, _no_," he said sarcastically, his heart pounding. "It's art. It's what I _do_, remember? God."

"Right, right," said Bill with a smirk. "The _artist_."

Ginny swatted him. "Don't be an arse."

"Ow." He nudged her away. He was quiet for a moment, considering the drawing, before snapping the book closed. "Well," he said with an air of finality, "it ought not to bite your hand off if all you're doing is drawing in it," he told Teddy, handing it back. "There's something a bit off about it, but I can't figure out what it is, and anyway, it won't be anything Dark. If your dad captured it from some werewolf pack during the wars, we'd already know about it, so it must be something from his personal belongings." Bill shrugged.

"Then why was Harry so bothered by it?" asked Ginny, tilting her head at Bill.

A shadow crossed Bill's face – Teddy was sure of it – and he pressed his lips together before answering. "Said he'd seen it at Grimmauld Place during the war," he said quietly, not meeting Ginny's eyes.

Teddy saw the way her jaw tightened, though. "Did he, now?" she muttered from between clenched teeth. "Well, there's nothing he likes more than reminiscing about every square inch of Grimmauld fucking Place, is there?"

"Gin, it was probably Remus's," said Bill in a low voice, turning her away from Teddy.

That seemed to sober her. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed, giving Teddy a gentle smile. "Right. I'm sorry, Teddy. Yes. Your dad must have kept it at Grimmauld Place when he was living there."

Teddy nodded, his gaze darting between the pair of them.

She closed her eyes for a moment as if to steady herself, and then aimed her wand to lift a few of the boxes and usher them towards the Floo. "All right, we'll be off, then. Don't be such a stranger, Teddy," she added, smiling at him. "Come 'round for dinner next week when Harry gets back to town. With Ron and Hermione still in France for the summer, we've always got too much food."

Teddy nodded, clutching the book to his chest.

Bill pointed at it. "And you let me know if that thing starts doing anything funny, okay? Your dad and his mates might've been brilliant at magic, but after sitting in a box with all sorts of other magical objects all these years, who knows what shape the currents are in. If your dad did mess with that book, even just a homework spell, it might've picked up any kind of magic around it by now. No telling what it might–"

"It's _fine_, Bill," interrupted Teddy. "Honest."

Giving Teddy one last look, Bill stepped into the Floo after Ginny and disappeared. Breathing hard, Teddy sank to the floor of the living room, still clutching the book.

That was close.

* * *

Teddy fell into a rhythm.

It was a dangerous rhythm, he knew that much. He hadn't been raised in a family of Aurors and curse-breakers and not come out of it without _some_ sense knocked into his head about Dark magic and enemies and the way things that seemed real might be faded at the edges, ready to morph into whatever a lonely soul might want to see. But even with all those doubts alive in his mind, he couldn't help but open the sketchbook several more times over the next few weeks, his heart beating wildly with anticipation and his body already taut with the thoughts of what they could do together under the cloak of shadows in Teddy's bedroom.

He learned to evade Sirius's questions with increasing skill, the lies sliding off his tongue. Yes, Remus could join them next time. Yes, it was difficult being mistaken for a rent boy all the time when he was really just an attractive, struggling artist trying to make ends meet. No, he couldn't take the wards down outside his door.

The fourth time, however, Sirius didn't ask about the wards.

The fifth, he didn't mistake Teddy for a rent boy.

And the sixth... he didn't mention Remus at all.

Teddy refused to consider what that might mean.

He would wait until Sirius fell asleep before he'd close the book, to avoid explanations. Sirius hadn't seen the thing yet, not the actual book that held the power to make Sirius come and go and, pushing all his doubts down, down to a place he never wanted to visit, Teddy intended to keep it that way.

* * *

The afternoon Sirius finally noticed the book – exactly _which_ book – was the day everything began to fall apart.

Teddy had still not nailed down the right incantation to make Sirius appear. He tried something different each time, usually ending with something lewd, to which Sirius would appear, making a lewd comment back from the comfort of his chair, his signature cigarette dangling from his right hand. Usually, the photograph worked well enough so long as the book _was_ open somewhere else in the room, so Teddy would hide the book under the bed or somewhere, and shove the accompanying photo under the pillow as soon as Sirius showed up.

But that day, it wasn't working. Sirius wasn't coming. Increasingly desperate, Teddy dug the book out from under the bed and laid it flat out beside him on the duvet. "Don't do this," he whispered, cold fear gripping his heart. "Don't leave me. Please." His pleading gaze could have bored a hole in both the photo and the drawing. His brain scrambled for something bawdy. "I'll– do anything you want," he murmured. That much had always been true, at least. "I'll ride you right in that chair," he added, "or we can do it in front of the window. Hell, I'll _open_ the window. Everyone out there'll be able to see us, hear me moaning for you." He swallowed, his face hot at the image.

Still nothing.

"Oh God," he whispered, suddenly gripped by a nauseating sensation that it was all over; Sirius was never coming back. "Give me another chance," he begged, running his fingers over the drawing. "Don't make me beg," he added with a soft laugh. "Okay, too late. One more chance. Please?" He was just about to reach for his charcoal pencil in the drawer to try sketching a new picture, when an ice-cold voice cut through the room.

"You'll have to tell me who you are and what the fuck you're doing with that book before I'll give you _any_ second chances."

Teddy whirled his head around toward the corner chair at the sound of the gruff voice. Sirius was sitting there just as he'd done each time before, except this time, rather than looking pleasantly surprised and amused to be there, now he looked furious. He was pointing at the sketchbook with one rigid, angry finger.

"Start talking," he barked.

"I– fuck." Teddy rubbed his eyes, wondering how people generally reacted to being told they were only apparitions, or magical drawings come to life. But then he remembered that Sirius likely invented this sodding book himself. That seemed like as good a place as any to start a conversation. He held it up, palms cradling the front and back cover and thumbs hooked around the edges to hold it open. "Do you recognise this?"

Sirius blinked. "Do I recognise it? Okay, so you're one of those pretty boys who's dumb as a broomstick, I see."

"Oh, nice. That's nice. Just when I–"

Sirius waved him quiet, pointing at the book again. "That's Remus's," he said quietly, "and it's got more magic in it than the likes of you are ever going to know what to do with. So how about handing it over, yeah? I'll see it gets back to him, no one gets hurt, and if it _was_ my cousin who put you up to this, I'll even make sure you're not implicated when I Banish her into the side of a fucking mountain." He spoke very gently, the venomous words cloaked in calm. "Tell me how she hooked you, and how you got that."

"You tell _me_ how it works," ventured Teddy.

Sirius tilted his head to the side. After a long moment, he leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, and hung his head between his shoulders. He chuckled. "You've got balls of steel; I'll give you that." Glancing up again, his voice took on a much more menacing tone. "You really don't know who you're dealing with. There's a war on, and I am definitely not on your side. Tell me how you got that book." His face shuttered for a moment, as if something had just occurred to him. "And if anything in the fucking world happened to Remus while you were getting it," he said in a low voice that quaked with anger, "I will string you up by your thumbs and slice your balls off myself, do you fucking hear me?"

"No, God, nothing happened to him," said Teddy quickly, figuring that of all the things he needed to explain, his father's whereabouts were thankfully not at the top of the list. "I found it," he continued, struggling to find the words. "It was with some things, old things of yours, and–"

"Ted, you up here? I've been calling from downstairs but you must not be able to–"

Both Teddy and Sirius whipped their heads towards the bedroom door, where a loud, abrupt knock had been followed by Harry's head poking inside. Harry stopped dead mid-sentence, swaying on the spot.

"Oh, God." Teddy's hand flew to his forehead. "I'm sorry, I can explain. I can– it's only that– _oh, God_."

Gripping the doorframe, Harry swung the door the rest of the way open and, with great effort, stood up straight, staring at Sirius. "Teddy," he breathed, panting through his mouth and blinking rapidly. "What have you done?"

"No, okay, listen. I was just trying to explain to– to– _him_, what happened here, and I–"

But neither Harry nor Sirius seemed to be listening to him. Sirius was staring at Harry as intently as Harry was staring back, a look of caution and wonder mixed on both their faces. Finally, Sirius broke the silence.

"Mr Potter?" He tilted his head to the side. "What are you doing here?"

Teddy's breath caught in his throat as his eyes darted back to Harry, suddenly seeing him the way Sirius must – at least twenty years older than Sirius and Teddy, twenty years older than _James_, with grey hair flecking his temples and a careworn face replacing that of the eager teenager Teddy had seen in his dad's photo collection.

Sirius rose slowly from the chair.

"No," murmured Harry, shaking his head. "No, okay, just– okay." He cleared his throat, and Teddy could almost see the Auror defences and strategies clicking into place in Harry's head, overshadowed though they might be by emotional turmoil. "I'm not James Potter's father," repeated Harry, more clearly this time. Momentarily confused by the lie, Teddy had to remind himself about James Senior. "But you're Sirius Black, aren't you? And you're– okay–" Harry's fingers inched towards his back pocket, where he kept his wand. "You're not in the right place, are you, son?"

The endearment caught Teddy by surprise, and he blinked up at Harry. Glancing at him briefly, Harry shook his head a tiny fraction, as if to warn off any interference.

"I don't know where the fuck I am," grumbled Sirius, his eyes darting between Harry and Teddy, "but I do know that that's my book, and I want it back." He pointed at the sketchbook again, all while not taking his eyes off Harry for more than a few seconds.

"I'm an Auror," said Harry, "and I don't want to hurt you. This is my godson," he added, nodding at Teddy, "and this is his house. I'm quite sure he doesn't want to hurt you, either, although you're right." He let his eyes linger on Teddy. "He does owe us both an explanation about this." As if on cue, both men folded their arms over their chests and turned to Teddy expectantly. He blinked between them, his mouth falling open.

It wasn't the right thing to dwell on, he knew, but Teddy could barely get past the insistent begging at the back of his mind that Sirius at the very least not tell Harry that in addition to everything else, Teddy had actually let Sirius _fuck him_ the last time he'd opened the book – and several times before that. He closed his eyes against those memories and tried to collect himself. Finally, he decided that the simplest explanation would have to be the best. He took a deep breath, holding up the open book.

"I drew you," he stated as slowly and calmly as he could, "and you appeared."

Harry and Sirius both stared at him, then down at the book. Teddy turned it around so they could get a better look at the drawing, depicting Sirius in exactly the clothing he was wearing now. Sirius squinted at it.

"That was a photograph," he said quietly. "Remus took it... Not that long ago." He looked up at Teddy again. "How the hell did you get this?"

Leaning over and fishing in his bedside drawer, Teddy pulled out the battered old photo, not sure of what to say.

Harry saved him. "He's a friend of mine," he told Sirius. "In this time. He's older, of course. Like me." Harry's brow strained, with the effort of holding back the truth, Teddy guessed. "He must have shown the kid some old photos." Harry shrugged, though a muscle in his jaw twitched.

Sirius was silent for a moment, stepping forward to take the photo from Teddy. He regarded the image for a long time, his face unreadable, before setting it aside and glancing over at the image in the book again. Teddy watched his eyes rove over the page, taking in every charcoal smear and redrawn line. "I've seen this before," he murmured, squinting at it. He rubbed at his forehead, looking distraught. "You drew it before. I saw it." He paused, blinking up at Teddy. "Didn't I?"

Teddy nodded slowly. "Yeah. You saw it before. I guess you didn't recognise it?"

Sirius closed his eyes, swaying a little bit. "I don't know. I don't remember," he said quietly.

"Here, sit down," said Harry, his voice shaking. He grasped Sirius's arm and led him back to the chair. Sirius sank into it and then looked up at Harry, flashing him a grateful smile. As Sirius's face melted into that charismatic seductiveness Teddy had learned to recognise so well, Harry paled and took a step backward. He swallowed hard and closed his own eyes for a moment, grasping at the doorframe for support.

"The book _is_ magical, then," ventured Teddy, encouraged by Sirius's renewed calm. "Isn't it? Like, if my– I mean, if Remus drew something in here, a picture of you, say, then you'd show up wherever he was?" He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, but feared he was failing miserably.

Sirius's eyes widened. "That wouldn't be magic; that'd be a miracle," he said pointedly. He shook his head. "We invented some cool shit back at school, I won't lie to you, but nothing that moved corporeal forms from one place to – well." He paused, scratching his jaw.

Harry let out a bark of a laugh, half a sob almost, before covering his face with one hand. "Oh my God," Teddy heard him mutter into his palm. "This is insane."

"Okay, _some_ corporeal forms could move around, sort of, if they were human to animal or– never mind." He waved his hand, refocusing on Teddy. "But something like what you're saying? No. Besides," he added, a smirk overtaking his face, "Remus sure can't draw," he assured Teddy, rolling his eyes. His eyes alight with mischief, he glanced down at the book open on Teddy's lap again. "Neither can you, I see."

Teddy slammed the book closed without thinking, shielding the drawing from critique. "Fuck off," he grumbled defensively, his face colouring. "Just because I'm not the best–" He trailed off and whirled his head around, searching.

Sirius was gone.

Harry stared at Teddy, his mouth open.

Teddy's eyes widened as stared down at the book, and a split second later, he found the right page again and flung it wide open.

Gasping, Sirius appeared in the chair again, hitting himself in the chest and doubling over. He dropped his cigarette on the floor and Teddy quickly Vanished it, earning a glare from Sirius when he'd caught his breath. "Don't fucking do that," growled Sirius, still panting.

Harry gaped at Sirius. "Did that just– did you–" His looked over at Teddy and took a deep breath. His voice was steadier when he spoke again. "He disappears when you close the book?"

Glancing between the book in his trembling fingers and the men before him, Teddy nodded.

Harry turned to Sirius. "And you can feel it, when he closes the book?"

Still hitting himself on the chest and gulping in air, Sirius managed a shrug. "Seems so."

"But I've closed it before," Teddy piped up, his brain clicking into place. "After we– when you–" He frowned, trying to push down the heat rising on his cheeks.

Harry turned to him. "You've done this before?" he asked Teddy, eyes wide.

"A few times," Teddy mumbled. "I didn't know what it did, I swear I didn't. I was just doodling."

"You took that book from Andromeda's attic, though," said Harry, narrowing his eyes. "You knew it did something."

"I didn't, I _swear_." Teddy felt like a child again, getting caught stealing Al's ice cream and confronted by Harry to explain himself. He wiped a hand over his face, trying to keep his roiling emotions in check. He turned to Sirius for help. "Did you feel it before, when I closed it?" he asked, barely daring to look at him. The memories were too fresh, the smell and feel of Sirius's skin against his too raw. But Harry could never know about that, of that Teddy was quite certain. He gazed earnestly at Sirius, hoping at least to get that much across to him.

Sirius rubbed at his chest, his eyes distant. "It felt... I don't know. I don't really remember." He swallowed, frowning. He looked around the room a bit, as if trying to place it in his memory again.

A sinking feeling stole over Teddy. "You do _remember_ last night," he murmured, "don't you?"

Sirius met his gaze at that, his expression softening and a warm smile melting across his lips. "Yeah," he said, as if he'd just remembered it at that moment. His eyes lingered on Teddy a bit too long, but then that look of confusion sneaked up his face again. "But I don't really remember leaving. That part's a blur."

"But he opened the book again just now," interrupted Harry, pointing at Teddy, "and you appeared again _with_ your memory of being here last night?"

Sirius paused, rubbing his jaw. Then he nodded. "Yeah." He looked up at Harry. "That's not right," he declared, and he and Harry shared a concerned look.

"What?" Teddy interjected, sitting up straighter on the bed. "Why not?"

Sirius glanced at him again, eyes soft. "Because," he began, "conjuring a memory, or– or– an apparition–" he swallowed over the words, the corners of his mouth turned down – "from a magical storage device is one thing, but having that form come completely to life, walking and talking and–"

Teddy's breath caught, recalling the ache in his arse after the nights Sirius had been there, the way he would wake up with dried semen between his thighs, all of it too real.

"–acting," Sirius continued after only a brief stumble, "of its own volition, well, that's a whole other story, isn't it?"

"Not to mention retaining _memories_ of its own in between summonings," added Harry. His gaze was still locked on Sirius, and only as Teddy regarded him carefully did he notice how badly Harry's hands were shaking.

The entire discussion was going over Teddy's head, and he felt a flash of annoyance at the pair of them for their shared looks and heightened awareness of all sorts of magical theory Teddy had no clue about. He quickly remembered, however, that Harry was a trained Auror with more Dark Arts experience than anyone else on the force, and that Sirius, for his part, had probably been the most talented student at Hogwarts in a generation. Had he lived, Teddy thought with a pang of grief, who knew what devices he might have invented for the use of the wizarding world?

Just as Sirius was about to speak again, they were interrupted by Kingsley's Patronus.

"All Aurors, report to the Ministry at once," the deep voice said, and Harry's fists clenched as he looked down at it.

It disappeared just as quickly, and Harry closed his eyes, huffing out a breath of frustration before sealing his lips closed. He slowly unclenched his fists and walked towards the bed. Before Teddy could anticipate his intent and hug the book to his chest, Harry had taken it from his hands. He turned to Sirius. "I'm sorry, mate," he said quietly, a note of something Teddy couldn't quite place in his voice. "I'll bring you back later. I promise. We'll figure this thing out, make sure you're where you're supposed to be." The word _promise_ had ignited a fierceness in Harry, and Teddy gaped at him.

"No, please." He crawled forward on the bed. "Leave him with me. I won't do anything, won't let anyone see. Please. I just want to talk to him."

Harry shook his head, his face crestfallen. "You can't," he murmured.

"It's all right," said Sirius, his eyes on Teddy. He gave Teddy a weak smile before turning back to Harry. He sat up straight, taking a deep breath.

"Ready?" asked Harry, and Sirius nodded.

"Yeah. More than last time, anyway. Hey," he added, as Harry lifted the book up. He paused. "Promise to bring me back?"

Harry let out a small noise at that, quickly swallowing and clenching his hands again, curling his fingers around the book. Teddy marvelled at the look of pure anguish that had passed over Harry's features for that brief second.

"I'd like to meet you properly, I think," added Sirius, his gaze soft over Harry's face. "Find out who you really are." He let his eyes linger another moment before turning to Teddy. "And you, too, mate." He forced a grin, but his eyes were sad.

Harry nodded, his jaw tight. "I promise," he said quietly.

Nodding, Sirius sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, gripping the arms of the chair tightly.

With what looked like Herculean effort, Harry let the book fall closed. Like a puff of smoke, Sirius disappeared.

Teddy gazed at the empty spot in the chair for a long moment before glancing back at Harry, who seemed frozen, the book pressed tightly between his palms. The stricken look on his face made Teddy's heart ache.

"Harry, I didn't mean to do anything Dark or illegal, I swear," Teddy began again, but Harry shook his head.

"Not now, Teddy," he murmured. "I'm sorry; I've got to go. We'll talk about this later." With that, he tucked the book under his arm and turned towards the door.

"Wait!" cried Teddy. "Leave it with me." A surge of panic welled up in his chest at the thought of Harry taking the book. "Please. I promise not to open it without you, if that's what you want. _Please_, Harry."

Harry shook his head, his jaw set. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then seemed to think the better of it and closed it again, sealing his lips. Without another word, he exited the room and hurried off down the stairs. Teddy heard the telltale _whoosh_ of the Floo a moment later.

Falling on his back on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling for a long time, unable to sleep.

* * *

Victoire was really getting to be a bloody nuisance. Ginny, at least, only made vague gestures towards inviting Teddy to dinner; Victoire insisted on showing up in his living room every other afternoon, thrusting a set of clean robes at him and physically dragging him back to her house for it.

"Teddy, darling," cooed Fleur on one such evening, wiping her hands on her apron, "will you go into the cellar for me? I need–" she tapped one finger over her lips, appraising the ingredients on the counter – "six potatoes, one tin of tomatoes and the jar at the back of the second shelf. There will be French on it – do not be alarmed." She winked at him, and he felt a surge of warmth from her magic that made him smile.

"Sure." He hopped off his stool, shaking his head at Victoire, and headed down the hall.

Rounding the corner towards the stairs, he paused at the low sound of voices coming from Bill's study. He flattened himself against the wall and tilted his head.

"Take a few days, Harry. Something like that would rattle anyone; it's clear you're still upset." It was Bill's voice, low and rough with concern.

"Nah, not with this case come up." Harry sighed, and Teddy imagined him rubbing his eyes under his glasses the way he did when he didn't want to talk. "It's all right. Just caught me off-guard, is all."

"That's one way to put it. Christ, Harry, it's been, what, nearly twenty-five years? And then he shows up like a bloody Inferius, not a day past twenty-one, you said?" Bill paused, dropping his voice. "That's some fucked up magic. I knew there was something off about that book. I should have done some more tests on it before I let Teddy have it."

"No, you couldn't have known. Christ, where's Hermione when I need her?" added Harry with a grim laugh. "Bet she'd know exactly what this is and how to fix it."

"Yeah, well, we should be able to figure it out without her," said Bill gruffly. "I'm not exactly rubbish at magic, and neither are you. But Harry, it's not just the magic part of this, yeah?" A glass tinkled with ice. "I know how hard it was for you when he died."

Harry didn't answer.

"Listen," Bill continued, his voice softer, "I watched you that year at Grimmauld Place. I know what happened. I might be the only one who knows it, all right? Talk to me."

There was a long silence, and Teddy debated moving along, ashamed at having listened to this much of a private conversation already. Something stopped him. He waited.

The next sounds he heard, after a long pause, were deep, shuddering breaths, just shy of sobs. "He was _there_, Bill," Harry whispered. "Walking and talking like he'd only left my dad's place five minutes ago, maybe, patrolling for the Order in this leather jacket, these goddamned motorcycle boots, twenty, maybe twenty-one fucking years old, just like the photos, exactly like I used to imagine him when I was a kid, and I just... I can't..."

Bill murmured something Teddy couldn't hear.

"No, nobody knows. _Nobody_ knows how fucking hard that was," murmured Harry, his voice choked in ways Teddy had never heard before. "Not Ron, not Ginny, not Hermione, not– I never told–"

"_I_ know about it, Harry. I mean, I knew what I saw between you two, and Fleur saw it too; she was the one who told me not to dismiss it, to make sure you were dealing with it best you could, because it wasn't just like losing a father, not with him. I know it wasn't."

"No, don't make it sound like that. I was fifteen, all right? I was– and he– Christ. He had Remus. It wasn't like that."

"No, I know, I didn't mean– I know he wouldn't have–"

"He _didn't_," said Harry curtly. "So leave it, okay?" Harry sighed again, muttering under his breath. "_Fuck_. Ginny's already giving me a hard time for telling you about the book instead of her, and now I've got to deal with Teddy, figure out what the fuck sort of magic he's been messing about with, and I just, I don't know if I can do it."

"Yeah." Bill sighed. "Well, you took it away from him at least, right?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause, and Teddy strained to hear.

"Have you tried it yourself yet?" A flash of judgement coloured Bill's voice, and Teddy froze at the words. No. Harry couldn't _try_ it himself. It was Teddy's book; Harry had no right to –

"Of course I have." Harry sounded small and defeated. Teddy held his breath against a surge of anger.

"And?"

"It was awful," whispered Harry. "He's twenty-one, Bill, and he doesn't even know me. I don't think he knew Teddy anymore, either. He was only a kid, walking around the room like he owned it, calling me _old man_."

"He didn't know Teddy?"

"Don't think so. Didn't mention him, anyway."

Bill's chair groaned. "Huh." There was a pause, and a few scratches from a quill. Teddy's heart pounded. "So, it seems if Teddy's the one who brings him out, he knows Teddy, but if you're the one to do it, he knows you?"

"I guess. I mean, he doesn't _know_ me, but he remembered the one time before, when I promised him I'd bring him out again. He remembers meeting me that once."

"Harry."

Teddy sneaked as close to the door as he dared.

"We've got to get rid of that thing. You know that, don't you? This is–" Bill sighed. "This isn't healthy for either of you."

Harry raised his voice at that. "No!" he exclaimed, just as Teddy had the same panicked thought. "No," he repeated, softer this time. "Let me investigate it a bit more. It might be a Dark magic case I need to–"

"_Harry_."

"No, Bill, I need to try again, see if he remembers me. See if I can–"

"It's not really him," snapped Bill.

"It's close enough!"

Both men fell silent at that, Harry's shout echoing down the hallway. Teddy's hands were shaking, he realised, and he began blinking rapidly. When he heard chairs shifting, voices murmuring and footsteps approaching the door, he ducked down to the cellar, leaning his forehead against the cool wall.

* * *

The next day, Teddy waited until he knew Harry would be at work, praying that he hadn't take the blasted book to the Ministry with him. He Floo-called Ginny, trying to school his features into the best nonchalant look he could manage.

"Teddy!" She smiled at him, kneeling in front of the hearth. "What's up?"

"Hey, Ginny. Just wanted to pick up that book of my dad's again." He swallowed, desperate to keep the trembling from his voice. "Harry wanted me to take it back to Bill for another round of tests. Something odd about it, I guess." He shrugged.

"Oh!" She looked surprised for a second, but the expression was quickly replaced by irritation. "Sure, of course. Not a moment too soon, if you ask me," she added, frowning. "Whatever tests Harry's been doing on it, locked in his study at all hours, they're certainly putting him in one hell of a bad mood." She forced a smile for Teddy's sake, but it didn't meet her eyes. "Hold on, I'll grab it."

As she disappeared from view, Teddy sat anxiously, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and trying to keep his face neutral. Well, it wasn't like he was doing anything wrong, was it? The book belonged to him; even Harry had said so.

Ginny returned in a few minutes and held the book out to Teddy. "Careful," she murmured as it passed through the green flames. Teddy tried not to grab it too eagerly. He tucked it under his arm when it was safely through, and Ginny sighed, giving him a tight smile. "You aren't really supposed to have that, are you?" she said, her lips twisting at the corners.

Teddy looked at her. "What do you mean?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I had to _Accio_ it from the bottom of Harry's desk drawer. If he knew you were picking it up, he'd have left it out, wouldn't you say?"

"I– I don't know." Teddy dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Well, I'm letting you have it anyway," she said with a sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "but only because the last thing Harry needs to be hiding in his bottom drawer is some reminder of Grimmauld Place." She looked away. "Took him long enough to forget about it in the first place," she muttered to herself.

"Thanks, Ginny," said Teddy in relief. "It's just that he said he'd give it back, and I was starting to miss it." He paused. "It's nice to have some stuff of my dad's around, you know?"

She regarded him for a long moment, and Teddy avoided her eyes. "Yes. I suppose it is. Off you go, then." She cleared her throat, about to rise to her feet. In relief, Teddy prepared to shut off the Floo connection. "Oh, and one more thing," she added.

"Hm?"

"Don't lie to me again," she said, her face hardening. "You're not any good at it."

She shut off the connection, and Teddy sat back on his heels, pressing his fingers to his eyes. Well, she was right about that.

* * *

Teddy raced upstairs almost immediately. He sat on his bed like usual, murmuring every filthy thought he could think of at it. He was almost mad with the desire to see Sirius again, to touch him.

Every time he appeared, he looked exactly like the drawing – the only difference that he was sitting in the chair in Teddy's bedroom rather than standing. The jeans and leather jacket were always the same, as were the worn boots and tight t-shirt. Teddy didn't think he'd ever get tired of seeing Sirius appear like that, dressed like every walking fantasy Teddy had ever entertained about him. This time when he appeared, Teddy had a question.

"Can you tell me how it works?" he asked, sitting forward eagerly on the bed.

"What, no kiss hello?" Sirius raised a brow, his arms dangling over the arms of the chair.

Grinning, Teddy pushed himself off the bed and sauntered over to the chair. Sirius made him feel sexier than he ever had in his life, with anyone else before. He planted his hands on the arms of the chair on either side of Sirius and leaned down, brushing his lips over Sirius's. Sirius moaned lightly, parting his lips and deepening the kiss with a sudden swipe of his tongue. Laughing in surprise, Teddy pulled back, licking his lips. "Mm," he murmured. "Better?"

Sirius grinned, but as Teddy sat back down on the bed, the smile faded. "How it works, eh?" Sirius rubbed his jaw. "Don't know if I should tell you anything about it until you tell me more about who you are. And that other bloke, the old man. How do I know you lot?"

Teddy was startled. "You remember him?"

Sirius furrowed his brow. "Yeah. No." He squinted. "Sort of. He was here last time, right?"

Teddy nodded.

"He was your godfather?"

"Right."

"And he said he knew Remus? Wait, how would he know Remus but not me?"

"I think he knows you too," said Teddy without thinking, "but he was trying not to scare you."

Sirius considered this. Leaning forward, he looked Teddy in the eye. "And why would that scare me?"

"You were scared the other day, weren't you? Wondering how you appeared here, wondering who we are?"

"Not _scared_," drawled Sirius, bringing the fag back up to his lips and taking a long drag. "I _am_ still wondering who you are, though. Seems like something I should have asked awhile ago, now." He gave Teddy a pointed look.

"I _did_ ask, that first night," said Teddy petulantly, his hands on his hips. "As you might recall. You're the one who didn't want to bother with names."

Sirius smirked, taking another drag. "Didn't seem important back then."

Teddy sighed. "My name's Teddy," he said cautiously. He reached out a hand and Sirius shook it, amused.

"All right, that's a start. And you know Remus?"

A stab of pain went through Teddy unexpectedly. "I– no." He dropped his gaze. "Not me, I'm too young. Harry does, though. My godfather," he added. "The one you met the other–" His voice died in his throat at the renewed stricken look on Sirius's face. A weight dropped in Teddy's stomach. "Oh. Oh shit. No, okay, wait, let me expl–"

"_Harry_?" croaked Sirius, his face ashen. "I thought he was James's dad. He looks like a Potter." He began shaking his head back and forth rhythmically. "Harry is a _baby_," he whispered.

Teddy closed his eyes briefly. "Shit. I didn't mean for you to find out like that. Please don't be upset. You're in... your own future, I guess." He scrambled around on the bed for the photo that had inspired the drawing. "I drew you from this, right? And you're, how old here?"

Sirius took another drag, his fingers trembling. "Twenty-one."

"Right. So..." He gestured at Sirius. "That's how old you are here. And so you don't know about your later life yet."

"But Harry knows me, grew up with me, I bet." He ran a hand over his face. "No wonder he looked so freaked out." He barked a laugh. "Christ. This is fucked up."

Teddy sealed his lips together, not daring to correct him. It was enough that Sirius had stopped asking questions about Remus, at least for the time being.

"All right." Sirius cleared his throat and sat up straighter in the chair. "I'm over the shock. Tell me everything, then. What happens in my life?" He paused. "Harry grows up to be an Auror, wow. That's amazing. James and Lils must be so fucking proud of him. And Remus and I've got a house down the lane from them, and my brother's come back 'round to the side of light, right? Yeah, yeah." His eyes narrowed as he spoke, as though he already didn't believe a word of it. "And, let's see. Peter's married that Hufflepuff bird he's been feeling up lately – fuck, forgot her name. No matter. And, let's see–" he scratched his jaw – "there's a cure for lycanthropy and Remus is Minister for Magic, and Hogwarts is made of pure, dark chocolate that has all the necessary vitamins and minerals built right in." He let out a small, strangled laugh, slumping back down in his chair.

Teddy wasn't sure what to say. "I– well. No," he said at last. "Not quite."

Sirius levelled him with a look. "Tell me. I can handle it."

Smiling sadly, Teddy shook his head. "With all due respect, no. And not because I'm trying to fuck with you or hide things," he added hastily, wringing his hands, "but just because, I mean–" He stopped, unable to explain it.

After a long pause, Sirius nodded, pressing his lips together. He took a deep breath. "Good man, Teddy," he said, his voice rough. "No, you're right. And I'm not an idiot; I know there's a war on in my time. I know that it's not going to end up sunshine and roses." He paused again. "But you've got a photograph of me," he continued quietly, not meeting Teddy's eyes, "and you're drawing pictures of it, looking at it all the time, yeah?"

The weight in Teddy's stomach increased. Miserably, he nodded. "That doesn't mean anything," he said weakly, but Sirius only gave him a sad smile.

"Sure, it does," he murmured. "Means you haven't got the real thing to look at, is what it means."

"No, that's not–" said Teddy quickly – "I didn't say–"

"You didn't have to." He forced a tight smile. "Well, no matter. I'm glad Remus is all right, at least." He let out a slow breath, sitting back in the chair. "You've not got any photos of _him_ lying around that you're pining over, that I haven't seen yet, have you?"

Teddy swallowed back the emotion brimming under the surface of his calm façade. "No," he said quietly.

"That's what I thought. Bet he's been miserable without me, though, yeah?"

Teddy blinked back tears but managed to nod. "Yeah," he whispered.

"Good." Sirius was quiet for a long moment before he finally cleared his throat, pointing to the book open on the bed. "It wasn't for drawing; neither of us could ever draw worth shit anyway," he began quietly. "It was just for messages. James and I had these two-way mirrors, yeah? And when Remus and I started–" he stumbled, blushing in a way that seemed entirely uncharacteristic for him – "well, started sleeping together, he was a bit put out that James could summon me from anywhere but he couldn't." His lips twisted into a wry smile. "So we got the idea to make that." He nodded at the book. "He'd already done most of the research for the Map, so he– Oh, you don't know about that. Well, it was this map that showed–"

"I know about it," said Teddy, grinning as he hastily wiped at his eyes.

'Yeah?" Sirius smiled back. "Harry?"

Teddy nodded.

"Yeah. James would've given it to him to take to Hogwarts, yeah?"

Teddy hesitated, then nodded again, clamping down over the emotions roiling through him.

"Bloody hell," he whispered. "Okay, well, Remus was always the ringleader on that one, so when we were looking for a way to write notes in class and stuff, he came up with that. Kind of bulky, but that way it looked like a textbook we could carry under our arms. Whoever got up first got to carry it for the day," he added fondly, "which meant that I spent the better part of seventh year charming my pillow to bonk me in the head at six a.m. every morning so I could grab the book. It was totally worth it, though, just to see how badly I could make Remus blush in History of Magic." He folded his hands over his mouth and leaned forward on his elbows.

"So, you could write in it, and the message would get to Remus?" asked Teddy.

Sirius nodded. "At first it'd write over whatever parchment was closest by, but that got to be a pain in the arse after a few too many incidents of accidentally propositioning Marlene McKinnon, who sat beside Remus in most classes." His eyes were faraway. "So we modified it. Got it so that the message would appear in front of the other person, like words written on the air. But nobody else could see them; we tested that."

Teddy gave a weak smile. "Let me guess: you sent some terrifically lewd message to Remus right in front of James, and waited to see what he'd do."

"You'd have made a fine Marauder, Teddy," said Sirius with a sad smile, not knowing how much the words cut through Teddy.

"I'd've liked to be one," he murmured under his breath. "You've no idea how much."

But if Sirius heard him, he didn't let on. "I never thought to draw in it, but maybe I should have. Maybe I could have summoned Remus this way during the summers sometimes, or during the war." His voice fell to a sad tone at that, and Teddy's heart clenched at the look of melancholy on his face.

Crawling off the bed, Teddy moved over to the chair and sat on the floor in front of Sirius, his hand on Sirius's knee. "Sounds like you loved him very much," he said quietly, and was surprised by the flash in Sirius's eyes as he looked down at him.

"_Love_," he shot back. "Present tense. You said he wasn't dead."

Teddy's eyes widened. "You don't even remember him some days! What's that about?"

"I don't know." Sirius pressed his lips together, his nostrils flaring. "I don't know about that. Some days it's all clear as day, and some days I only know you, right now." His chest rose and fell rapidly. "You pulled me out of that fucking book and away from my life with him," he said, his voice beginning to shake with anger. "We're _happy_, okay? Peter is wrong about the fucking spy, and Remus is the only person in the world I want to be with, and– and even Dumbledore couldn't keep us apart no matter how hard he tried, but you think _you_ can find some mangy old book fifty years later, or whatever, and take me out of my _life_? I–" He paused, his eyes on the floor.

Stunned, Teddy pulled his hand back and stared at Sirius. "I didn't mean to," he whispered. "You can– I mean, you can go back, can't you? When we close the book? You're still with Remus. He still loves you. It's the magic that's fucked up, isn't it? Makes it seem like you're here, but you're not, are you?" His mind swam, truth and reality blurring along the edges of fantasy and magic, and he couldn't keep each one straight anymore.

"I don't know where I go when you close the book," said Sirius quietly, "but I remember being here every time I come back, and I–" He clenched his jaw and his hands at the same time, as if summoning courage.

"You what?" prompted Teddy softly.

Sirius glanced down at him, his eyes dull. "I don't remember my life as much. Every time, it's less. I don't–" He swallowed. "I don't remember as much about Remus."

His mouth falling open, Teddy grasped Sirius's knee again. He couldn't think of anything to say.

A long silence passed between them before Sirius spoke again, his voice so soft Teddy had to strain to hear it. "I'm going to close the book now," he whispered, "and I'd rather you didn't open it again for awhile." He held Teddy's gaze. "Can you do that for me, Teddy?"

"No," said Teddy without thinking. "Wait. We can figure it out. We can–"

"Can you do that for me?" he repeated. "I don't think it'll work, not permanently, but I need time to think, time away from here, okay? Got to see if I can remember anything when I'm not here. Got to–" The rest of his emotions went unspoken, but Teddy could only imagine what he must be feeling.

His eyes brimming with tears, he nodded.

Sirius rose from the chair, gently shifting Teddy to the side where he knelt on the floor, and walked over to the book on the bed. Taking a deep breath and not looking back at Teddy, he lifted the cover and let it fall closed. With a puff of air, he was gone.

Teddy pulled his knees up to his chest and sat on the floor until night fell, his heart aching. When he finally rose, he crawled into the bed and lay huddled under the covers, wide awake.

* * *

Harry showed up in Teddy's kitchen after work the next day, unshaven and with a sour mood dripping from every pore.

"Dammit, Teddy," he muttered, pacing in the kitchen as Teddy slumped into a chair at the table. "You lied to Ginny to get that book back."

"Sorry," muttered Teddy. "I just really wanted to see him again. Ask him more stuff about my dad."

Harry's expression softened a little bit at that. "I've told you that story about the Mirror of Erised more times than I can remember," he said. "Do you really need to hear it again? It's not healthy to spend all your time with ghosts and memories."

"Oh, so that's not why _you_ wanted it so much." The harsh words weren't quite what Teddy had intended to say, but he stood by them, pressing his lips together and staring down at the table.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Teddy shook his head, sighing.

"I thought I told you to leave well enough alone," muttered Harry. "There's something not right about that book, and I'd like to figure out what it is. You heard him," he added, shoving a hand through his hair and leaving it there as he sagged against the counter. "He didn't invent a sketchbook that brought people to life, and he sure as hell shouldn't have _memories_ of being here before."

"I know," said Teddy, "but I just–"

"No." Harry's voice was uncharacteristically sharp. "I don't care what you thought. Nothing can raise the dead, do you hear me? I thought we went through this when you were six years old. _Nothing_ can bring them back, not ever, no matter how much you might wish things were different." He clenched his jaw at that.

Teddy searched Harry's face for something he couldn't find. "Do _you_ wish things were different? With him?" he asked quietly. "Maybe you're trying to keep that book from me so you can raise the dead yourself."

Harry blinked at him slowly, his face going white. "Maybe you should mind your own business, you ever think of that?" he whispered fiercely. Then, as if catching himself, he sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Teddy," he said, sounding defeated. "I didn't mean to shout at you. I'm– this is very stressful for me, as you can imagine, and work's been awful lately." He gave Teddy a tight smile, gripping the counter top.

"Yeah," mumbled Teddy. "I'm sorry, too."

"He was a very important person in my life," said Harry carefully. "I'm worried about the magic that's brought him to life again, all right?"

Teddy nodded.

"You can keep it for now," said Harry with a sigh, "but leave it closed. Can you do that, please? I've got to figure some things out."

Teddy nodded again, and after a long silence, Harry took a deep breath and strode to the door.

Teddy sat there awhile longer, staring at the slow drip of the faucet.

* * *

"So. How's Eamon?" Victoire's voice was sharper than usual as she asked her favourite question. She feigned nonchalance as she sneaked a phial of vodka out of her pocket and dashed some into her cranberry juice, and Teddy rolled his eyes.

"Fine." He looked around the café, his eyes landing on the clock above the staff door. He didn't want to be there, wanted only to be at home with Sirius, but Victoire had dragged him out.

She shot him a look of pure ice. "Really." It wasn't a question.

"What?"

She stirred her drink furiously before taking a long sip, her lips staining red. "Janine said he showed up to Alex's party last weekend, so she asked him about you, and he didn't know what she was on about." She sat back in her chair, glaring. "'Teddy Lupin,' she said he told her. 'Nice bloke. Haven't seen him much since school.'" She chomped down on a piece of ice. "So you really did invent a boyfriend. _Teddy_!" She dropped her hands to the table dramatically. "What's going _on_?"

"I don't want to talk about this." He pushed his chair back and stood, taking a breath. "I'll talk to you later, all right?" He threw some coins onto the table and strode out, relishing the cool air that brushed his face as the door closed behind him.

Stupid Janine. Stupid Victoire. Not to mention Harry and Bill and _everyone_ who wanted to nose around in his life. Why couldn't they all just sod off, leave him be? All he ever wanted was to be left alone.

He Apparated back to his house and debated going straight upstairs to fetch the sketchbook – his promise to Harry be damned. Sirius could always make him forget everything else, coaxing the world to narrow to just the two of them. But he couldn't face talking to anyone at the moment, not even Sirius. Instead, he headed to the back bedroom and opened the door to his makeshift art studio. He hadn't visited it since he'd discovered the book, but suddenly, being surrounded by his previous portraits of Sirius felt like coming home.

He sank down to the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest, letting the fading light of the day illuminate the charcoal sketches. Sirius in a variety of poses looked down at him, keeping Teddy safe, making him feel secure and loved. He took a deep breath and let his head fall back against the wall, images of Sirius swimming in front of him, each one bleeding into the next.

"Teddy, _honestly_, you don't have to storm out on me like that! I'm not angry about Eamon; I just want to understand. Where are you?"

Victoire's voice floated down the hallway, and Teddy thunked his head back against the wall, hard. Why did he always have to explain himself to everyone? Why did they always assume there was something about him they could never _understand_? He was willing to wager that Sirius Black had never had to explain himself to anyone. A man like that could do whatever he damn well pleased, and everyone he encountered would be putty in his hand.

Teddy envied that more than he cared to admit.

"There you are." She poked her head around the door. "You might have told me you were back here! It's not the easiest room... to... find... " Her voice trailed off as she stepped into the room and looked around. Her mouth fell open and she began to blink rapidly, taking in the canvasses covering the wall – nearly all versions of Sirius Black.

Teddy stayed where he was, huddled in the corner, watching her face crumple as she took stock, judging him.

"_Teddy_," she breathed at last, her voice quavering. "This–" she gestured around the room – "What _is_ all this?"

"It's my art, Victoire. Bugger off, all right? I'm not in the mood."

She ignored him, stepping further into the room and looking around, her eyes wide. "This is– my God, Teddy. How many are there?" She raised her hand and moved it through the air in front of her, as if counting. Blinking, she glanced down at him. "There must be hundreds of these."

He raised his head, angry. "So? It's not your business."

"You're obsessed with him," she told him plainly, gazing down at him on the floor. "Why are you so obsessed with him? This is mad!"

"Shut it!" he shouted. "It's not mad! He was my dad's... best friend." He swallowed around the stumble, feeling his face heat. "I like looking at him, okay? And he's good practice for drawing, and it's not mad, it's _not_. He understands me, and it's not like anyone else does, so who fucking cares if I draw him? It's not like I– it's–" He took a shuddering breath, trying to make sense of it all.

She sank to her knees in front of him and reached out, cupping the side of his face with one hand. "Teddy," she whispered. "I know exactly who he was. Everyone does," she began. "He was a lot more than your dad's best friend."

Teddy pushed her hand away, turning his face to the side. "Well, how else am I meant to find out anything about my dad?" he snapped.

She dropped her hand to her lap, sitting back on her heels. "Are they magical portraits, then? Does he speak to you?" she asked softly.

Weary of arguing and not prepared to tell her the truth, Teddy closed his eyes and nodded. He heard Victoire take a deep breath.

"Okay," she said soothingly. "Okay. What does he say?"

The room fell quiet, and the buzzing in Teddy's head subsided. "He says I'm interesting, and useful, and worth it," he began. "He likes me. He likes being with me; I know he does. And he–" Teddy groaned, images filling his mind of Sirius stretched out beside him or underneath him, coaxing him with slow whispers in the dark. "He says he wants me. He's the only one who ever says that, you know."

"Oh, God." Victoire's voice was distant, not a part of him, and he kept his eyes closed against it. "No. No. Oh, Teddy," she murmured, wrapping her arms around him. He let her do it, his head falling to her shoulder as she held him close, her fingers light and soothing in his hair. "It's okay," he heard her whisper against the top of his head. "Shhh. We'll fix this. It's okay. It'll be okay."

He let her hold him for a long time, the shadows creeping up the walls and blurring Sirius's face where it looked down on them.

* * *

There were things that Teddy needed to figure out. There were things he needed to know, but nobody left alive to ask. He thought of Victoire, but he hadn't seen her since the night he'd told her too much. She'd put him to bed with a Dreamless Sleep potion but before drifting off, he'd heard her whispering furiously with someone through his Floo. He'd been avoiding her ever since and hoped she'd have forgotten the whole thing.

He thought of Molly and Arthur, who would have been in the Order of the Phoenix back then, but he couldn't exactly talk to them about Harry and Sirius. He thought of Ron or Hermione, Harry's confidants and closest friends during the war, but then he remembered what he'd heard Harry tell Bill – he'd never mentioned anything to them about whatever it was, whatever was bothering him, so going to them for help wouldn't do any good, even if they weren't abroad for the summer.

He sighed, sitting petulantly on his couch and trying to think of the best way to proceed. Suddenly, he closed his eyes against his own stupidity.

_Bill_.

Christ, of course. From the sounds of that conversation, he and Harry were close; it wasn't likely that he'd reveal much to Teddy behind Harry's back. But Teddy could try.

He went into the bank mid-morning the next day. Standing at a bit of a distance from the main counters and offices just beyond, he pulled out a small notebook and pencil, holding the latter awkwardly in one hand while he worked. By the time the guards noticed him and began to wave their arms, he'd done a rough job and smirked at it.

"No, it's okay. I'm here to see Bill Weasley," he told them when they approached with scowling faces. They passed the message down the chain of command to the front counters, where one of the goblins hopped off his stool and wandered off to Bill's office. Teddy could see only a whisper of red hair and the movement of a person much taller than the goblin from behind a series of screens. A moment later, Bill poked his head out and waved him over.

When he was sitting across from Bill in the office, he passed the ripped-out notebook page forward. Bill raised his eyebrows. It was a sketch of Bill at his desk, features enhanced in caricature as he toiled away at the towering stacks of parchment around him and wiping the sweat from his brow.

He glanced up at Teddy, throwing the page aside. "Cute," he deadpanned.

Teddy smiled.

"What do you want?" he said gruffly. "Not all of us are layabout _artistes_ like you lot. I'm busy, kid." He paused. "Trying to clean up your messes, in fact."

Teddy blinked at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

But Bill already seemed to regret having said that. He shuffled some papers out of Teddy's view, clenching his jaw. "Nothing. Thought Victoire was going to look out for you, by the way. What're you doing here?"

"I don't want to see her," Teddy admitted, frowning. "We had a row."

Bill only glared at him across the desk, his face as unreadable as always.

Taking a deep breath, Teddy gathered his courage. "Listen. Can you tell me about Harry and Sirius Black? When he was alive. During the war," he stammered.

Bill stared at him for a long moment before resting his elbows on his desk and closing his eyes, rubbing them with the fingertips of both hands. After a few seconds, he smoothed his hands down over his face and lifted them away, sighing. "What kind of a question is that?" he asked bluntly, regarding Teddy now.

"Something happened between them," Teddy insisted. "There's a reason Harry's so upset with me about that book. It's not Dark magic, we know that, so why else would he care? So I have a magic book that conjures drawings to life. Lily's got a pet pygmy puff." He shrugged, trying to appear much more nonchalant about it than he felt. "Why does it bother Harry so much?"

Bill regarded him, finally tilting his head to the side and speaking slowly. "Harry told you what he needs you to do with that book. I sympathise to an extent, Teddy. I know you have questions about your dad, and it must be nice to talk to a friend of his." His face hardened. "But you're a righteous little prick if you come snooping around in Harry's personal life just to save your precious blow-up doll." He leaned forward across his desk, as Teddy felt his cheeks flush. "Do we understand each other?"

Teddy gaped at him, not sure what to say to that. "I don't–"

"Don't know what I'm talking about? Let me put it in small words, then, so you get it. Victoire was going to take a more _patient_ approach, shall we say, but I'm not feeling quite as sorry for you as she is."

Teddy felt like he'd been slapped. In all his years of knowing Bill Weasley, he'd always been authoritative and intimidating, but never as angry or cruel as he was now. "Sir, I don't know what Victoire told you, but I–"

Bill held up a hand. "You want to know why Harry's so upset?"

Teddy didn't move.

"How would you feel," Bill began slowly, "if you turned around one day and James, say, or Albus, had conjured a living, breathing replica of your mother – at age seventeen."

Teddy's stomach rolled over.

"And you found them sitting around with her, chatting like old friends." Bill glared at him. "And she doesn't have any memory of you or your dad; she only knows what she knew at that age. So you ask James if he'd kindly put her back where he got her, because it's really fucking hard for you to see her like that, yeah?"

Teddy pressed his lips together.

"But he doesn't," continued Bill, "because he's got no concern for anyone's feelings but his own."

"That's not fair," said Teddy reflexively, snapping his mouth shut again at the glare Bill levelled at him.__  
  
"Not fair? Okay, kid, how about this." His voice dropped to a menacing growl. "_Then_ you find out that the reason James is so keen to keep her around – this fantastic, sexy, seventeen-year-old sweet thing that he'd never met before, that he never knew when she was alive, so she's just a toy to him, a convenient way to get at something in the past – was because he's _fucking her_ behind his bedroom door."

A wave of sickness washed over Teddy, and he swallowed around a mouthful of bile. "It's not like that," he whispered. "It's not–"

"No?" Bill's eyes flashed at him. "What's it like, then? Why don't you enlighten me."

"Don't be like this," pleaded Teddy, feeling suddenly light-headed. "I can't explain it, but it isn't like that. He's– he's _brilliant_, Bill, and I'm– I'm who I want to be when I'm with him. I feel at home. He makes me feel like–"

"Like your father?" said Bill quietly.

Teddy's mouth fell open. He blinked at Bill before slowly shaking his head. "No. No. That's not what it's about. That's not–"

Bill sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Teddy," he said at last, his voice more gentle than before. "You do realise that you can't keep him, don't you?"

Teddy said nothing, his eyes on the floor.

"Fuck. This is ridiculous, and it's already gone on too long. You and Harry are coming by tonight, and we're going to take care of this once and for all. Bring the book," Bill added, picking up his quill again, "and don't even think about not showing up. You don't want to know what I'll do to you if you don't."

Blinking, Teddy gathered his things and left. No, he probably didn't.

* * *

"How does it work?"

Gathered in Bill and Fleur's living room, the group of them watched as Bill poked at the book again, the page open to the drawing of Sirius.

Teddy shook his head, resigned. His head ached and his chest felt tight. "I don't know. Sometimes he comes when I ask, and sometimes he doesn't."

Bill glared at him. "Bollocks," he snapped. "What do you ask it?"

Heat flooded Teddy's face. "I– I don't know. I just ask him to come to me."

"How you made it through Hogwarts is a fucking mystery to me." Bill shook his head, exasperated. "A magical Summoning needs a bloody incantation, yeah? If something appears before you after being Summoned, it's because you said the words to Summon it. Got that?"

"I don't _know_," insisted Teddy.

Beside him, Harry kneaded his forehead.

"Think, Teddy." Bill clenched his fingers around the book. "Was it something about your dad?"

"No."

"Something about Sirius's family?"

"Definitely not."

"Something about– Christ, I don't know. Quidditch?"

"No."

"Hogwarts?"

"_No_! I told you I don't know. Why won't you leave it alone?"

Bill narrowed his eyes, his gaze blazing a hole through Teddy. "_Oh_. Of course. Should've thought of that. Sirius Black, you randy fucking cock tease. It's something dirty, isn't it?"

Teddy felt his face heat. Beside Bill, Victoire flushed scarlet, her eyes wide. "No," Teddy said weakly, and Bill sighed, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Sirius Black," Bill barked at the drawing, "get out here and fuck me."

Harry swallowed, covering his face with his hands.

"Come on, you know you want it."

"Dad, please." Victoire grabbed his arm, but he nudged her away.

"We can't fix it if we don't know how it works," he told her.

"Let me do it," begged Teddy, stepping forward.

"No!" Harry spoke for the first time in minutes, pulling Teddy back. "We all know you can work it," he added. "The question is _why_."

"You can work it, too," Bill reminded Harry, avoiding Teddy's eyes. "So what did you say to open it?"

Harry clenched his jaw. "I'm an Auror," he said at last, swallowing. "I know some tricks."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," muttered Bill. "Not you, too."

Teddy found himself glaring at Harry, feeling betrayed.

"Sirius Black," Bill tried again, no longer shouting. "I need to see you. I miss you," he added, shifting in his chair and looking visibly uncomfortable. "I'd like to talk to you."

Nothing happened.

"Let Mum try," said Victoire, taking the book from Bill.

Teddy sighed, shaking his head. "This is stupid," he muttered. "It's not working anymore, so let me just put it back in Gran's attic and we'll forget all about it, okay?"

"Is that what you'd do, Teddy?" asked Harry quietly, looking down at his hands.

Teddy glanced at him, his lips pressed together. He didn't answer.

Fleur stepped into the silence of the room from where she'd been lurking in the shadows. "Harry." She moved towards him. "Where is Ginny tonight? She should be here for this."

Harry stared at her. "She's at home," he said evenly, "and no, she shouldn't."

Fleur nodded. "Mm. This is what I thought."

Teddy's gaze darted between them.

She took the book from Victoire. "If _I_ cannot seduce a man out of this thing," she said with a faint smile, "even a gay man, then we know there is a problem."

Bill grinned at her, his hand drifting up the back of her thigh as she passed him. She sat down in an armchair with the drawing of Sirius open in her lap, flipping her long hair off her shoulders. She opened her mouth to begin, but then paused, glancing up at Teddy and Harry. "You do not speak French, no?"

Teddy shook his head.

She smiled, and then began speaking. In a low voice tinged with honey, she purred out a long stream of French, her tone lilting as her fingers skimmed over the drawing. Victoire's face turned pink, Teddy noticed, and Bill was clenching his fists very hard in his lap, but Harry only stared longingly at the book. It began to glow a little bit, and Teddy could have sworn it lifted from her lap as the words tumbled from her mouth, painting images even in a language he couldn't understand of bodies entangled and moans low in the night.

But still, Sirius didn't appear.

Eventually, she fell silent, tilting her head at the drawing and smiling sadly. "He does not want me, it seems," she announced to the room, rising and giving the book back to Victoire.

"So, it works for Teddy because he drew it, obviously," began Bill, rubbing his jaw, "and it works for Harry because... he knew Sirius better than the rest of us?"

Victoire shook her head, her brow drawn in concentration. "It's more than that," she said quietly.

"All right," said Bill, scowling at her, "make me spell it out, then. They both want to fuck him, and we don't."

"Dad!" She stamped her feet. "Honestly! It's more than that, much more." She was blinking rapidly, as if her brain was still racing to catch up to her mouth.

"Look," said Harry wearily, rising to his feet, "I've got to get home." He waved his hand in Teddy's direction. "Let him have the book. I don't care anymore."

"Harry, that's not going to solve anything," said Bill.

"Then don't solve anything!" snapped Harry. "Not everything's a puzzle to be solved, okay? My life sure as hell isn't. If Teddy wants to sit around with a fucking ghost for the rest of his life, then let him. He wouldn't be the first."

"He's not a ghost," muttered Teddy, his eyes on the floor.

"Then what do you think he is?" cried Harry. "Just a brilliant fucking gift that showed up to ruin our lives?"

"He's not ruining anything," said Teddy. "He _is_ brilliant, and it doesn't matter if I talk to a magical portrait sometimes, does it? I mean, _God_. If he were a portrait at Hogwarts, this wouldn't be such a big deal."

Harry threw his hands up. "Not a big deal? Oh, that's great. That's just perfect. Why don't you–"

"It's a big deal," interrupted Bill, levelling a glare at Harry even as he spoke to Teddy, "because it's rogue magic we can't control, kid. It's a big deal because it's not just a portrait at Hogwarts, it's a conjured fucking replica of a dead man who isn't a ghost, and isn't an Inferius. So what the hell is he? That's why it's a big deal."

"It's a magic _he_ created!" Teddy blinked at them, trying to make them see reason. "It's not rogue; it's just keyed to, I don't know, to my dad, and maybe to me because of that. To Lupins, or something. And I drew it, and it belongs to me, so I can open it, okay? I don't see what the big–"

"That doesn't explain Harry," said Bill. "That doesn't explain why he can open it but I can't, when–"

"It's because they need him!" shouted Victoire, throwing her hands up. The three men fell silent, staring at her. She sat in wonder for a moment, panting. When she spoke again, her voice was soft but firm. "It's not just about sex, Dad," she added, looking exasperated. "It's because they're grieving, and they need to know they're loved. Teddy hasn't said one word about his grandmother since she died, but I _know_ he misses her so much he hardly knows what to do with himself. Sirius must know it, too. And Harry–" She looked over at Harry, her face drawn in sympathy. "He's still grieving for Sirius himself."

Teddy stared at her. His stomach rolled over and he thought he might be sick. Slowly, he began to shake his head.

"No," he whispered, clenching his jaw. "No. It's not about that. It's not." He grabbed the book from the table and headed for the door. "I'm allowed to have _some_ fucking connection to the past, aren't I?" He flung the door open and stormed through before they could stop him, Apparating at the end of the lane before collapsing to his knees on his bedroom floor, his body numb.

* * *

Teddy tried to keep the book closed, he really did, but without Sirius, he had no one. He lasted exactly thirty hours, the loneliness crushing his chest, before he dragged the book out from under his bed again and begged Sirius to appear.

"I need you," he whispered, his hands trembling over the open page. "I don't know who I am without you."

Sirius blinked into existence once again, his appearance exactly the same as it always was, a living version of the drawing in the book. He was quiet, appraising Teddy from across the room. Teddy dared not speak, dared not risk Sirius storming off again, but finally, he took the chance.

"Thank you for coming," he murmured.

Sirius took a drag. "Did I have a choice?"

"I– I don't know." He paused. "Are you angry with me?" His voice broke a bit at that. "Don't be angry with me."

Sirius hesitated before shaking his head. "I'm not angry."

Teddy sighed in relief.

Sirius seemed to have come to terms with the information Teddy had given him that last time, about his own mortality and the idea that James's baby son was now forty years old. That Remus wasn't anywhere to be found, nor James for that matter, nor Lily, nor Peter, nor anyone he used to know. He stopped asking questions and started seeking as much solace in Teddy's body as Teddy sought in his.

Nobody came to see him for an entire week. Teddy shut himself away with Sirius, becoming so dependent on his presence that he never wanted to shut the book.

"You could stay here longer," Teddy tried, his fingers skimming lightly down Sirius's bare chest as they lay tangled together one night. _Forever_ was what he'd wanted to say but didn't dare. Sirius seemed to sense his meaning anyway.

"Trapped in your bedroom?" He lifted a brow.

Teddy frowned. "You wouldn't be trapped. We can put the book away, leave it open." He hated the note of desperation in his voice, but Sirius didn't understand, didn't have to pluck up the courage, the energy every single night to close the book once more and watch his lover disappear, blinking right out of existence. It was always a haunted departure, to Teddy – nothing like the simplicity of Apparition or the satisfaction of Vanishing spells. Closing the book left a mark on the room, Teddy swore it did, an imprint of ghostly presence that chilled his blood as he tossed and turned, trying to find sleep amidst his jumbled thoughts and feelings for the man no longer there.

* * *

The night Sirius saw the _other_ book was the beginning of the end. Teddy had forgotten it was there; he'd never thought to hide it.

He'd only left Sirius alone for a few minutes, he'd thought, dashing downstairs to get them some whisky and a bit to eat. But it was enough to do all the damage in the world.

When he got back up to his bedroom, he saw that Sirius had pulled a thick volume from Teddy's bottom shelf and was hunched over it in his chair, flipping the pages madly. He glanced up at Teddy with a stone-cold glare, as Teddy's heart sank to his feet.

It was his copy of _A History of the Second War, abridged edition_.

"So, you're a Metamorphmagus, but not a werewolf? That's fascinating. Would have thought it'd go the other way."

A cold trickle of horror slid down Teddy's spine. He swallowed.

"I mean," continued Sirius, the attempted lightness in his voice overpowered by the underlining fury, "it's the werewolves the Ministry's always been concerned about, yeah? All those laws about breeding and what not. Don't want their blood mixing, don't want any accidental little were-pups running around the Wizarding world." He forced a laugh, a sickening sound that made Teddy's heart grow cold in his chest. "And yet here you are. Got to say, I really do wonder how that happened. Maybe a little love potion here, a little Felix Felicis there?"

"Don't you dare say that about her," Teddy whispered fiercely. "He loved her; I know he did."

Only at the stricken look on Sirius's face did Teddy feel the full horror of his situation. "Well," said Sirius at last, his voice hollow, "there's quite a bit you know that I don't, it seems."

Teddy sank down onto the bed.

"Was it for a laugh, was that it?" Sirius threw the book onto the bed.

"No! Christ."

"Thought you'd have a run at Daddy's old boyfriend, then?" Any attempt at menace in his voice broke down at that, and Sirius slumped down in the chair, hunching his shoulders and folding his arms over his chest.

"No," said Teddy, but the word barely made it out of his mouth. "I don't know," he whispered.

Sirius looked down at the floor. "I thought you looked like him, that one time," he muttered. "I fucking thought it, but then you changed your hair, your nose–" Sirius gestured in front of his face, looking miserable – "and I can barely remember anything anyway. I'm a fucking idiot," he said to himself under his breath.

"From the very first time I saw your picture, I couldn't stop thinking about you, imagining what you were like."

Sirius raised his head, pleading eyes trained on Teddy. "_Why_?"

Something burst in Teddy's chest. "Because every story I've ever heard about him," he began, his voice rising, "from everyone other than Molly and Gran, at least, was about how you two had this fucking astral plane connection or something, so utterly perfect for each other, how much he loved you, how shattered he was when he lost you _both_ times, how–" He swallowed over a mouthful of bile. "And I've never felt that way about anyone, okay? Not Victoire, not anyone in the world, and I just, I made you up in my head. I tucked your photos under my pillow and drew pictures of you and imagined you on your motorcycle. And I imagined kissing you, how he must have felt to have someone like you to love, to love him back, someone who'd flip two fingers at his own family for trying to make him something he wasn't, someone who'd become an _Animagus_ for him, _God_–" Teddy choked down a sob – "someone who'd loved him for who he was, no matter what, through two wars and then some, through everyone thinking he was a killer, through _Azkaban_, through death, through..."

He wiped his face, not daring to look at Sirius.

"I worshipped you," he said slowly. "I wanted to be with you, and touch you, and hear you, and feel you beside me, and _see_, God, I only wanted to see you for myself, meet you and _see_ what it was that he'd had with you." He stopped, his chest heaving and his heart splitting in two.

Sirius stared at him, then blinked at his own hands, held out in front of him. "I'm not that person," he said at last, his voice rough. "You don't know the bad stuff, then, the stuff that's not in that book." He pointed wearily at it. "You don't know about how I nearly got him kicked out of school for running with us at night, how I was so quick to believe his betrayal in that war, how I–" he swallowed a sob – "how I tricked him into nearly killing someone," he whispered.

There was a loud crash downstairs, and, exchanging a look with Sirius, Teddy rushed for the bedroom door.

"Sirius _Black_," an angry, sing-song voice floated up the stairs.

Teddy glanced back over his shoulder to see that Sirius wouldn't be content to stay up there while Teddy investigated. He sighed, grabbed the open book from the bed, and flung the door open ahead of Sirius. They both raced down the stairs to find Harry crashing through the kitchen, knocking everything he could from the counters.

"Aha!" boomed Harry, swaying against the fridge. He wiped his mouth, fixing furious eyes on Sirius and Teddy. The smell of alcohol radiated from him like a fog, and Teddy's heart fell to his stomach. "There you are," continued Harry, stumbling over to Sirius.

"Uh. All right, mate?" asked Sirius, raising an eyebrow. He gripped Harry by the arms to steady him, and Harry fell still in Sirius's light embrace, sagging.

"All right, all right," he muttered, blinking too quickly. "Just peachy. Never been better since you went and died, you know." He laughed at that, a wailing cackle that almost sent him sprawling to the floor when he tried to tilt his head back.

Teddy stared with horror at the scene before him, clutching the open book to his chest.

"Okay, uh, what was your name again?" He shot Teddy an incredulous look, as though they really were just two teenagers stuck with a drunk, middle-aged man. Sirius pushed Harry gently away, taking a step back.

Harry looked stricken, swaying and grasping the counter behind him.

"What?" Teddy said to Sirius, his mouth falling open. "That's Harry. Harry _Potter_. You were just reading the sodding history book, weren't you? Giving _me_ a hard time about everything, and you don't even remember him? What the hell is–"

"Stop it." Sirius held up his hand and squeezed his eyes shut. "Fine, okay. Harry." He kept his eyes closed a moment longer, as if committing that name to memory as best he could. When he opened them at last, he sighed, looking pained. "Harry," he repeated. "What's all this, then?" He gestured at Harry before dropping his hand to his side.

"Don't _Harry_ me. You don't get to talk to me like I'm a child." He wiped his mouth again, panting. "You told me before that I was just a child, didn't know what I was saying. I told you I loved you, and you told me I was a fucking _kid_. Oh, you don't remember. He doesn't remember, he doesn't remember," he mocked, rolling his eyes at Teddy and laughing again, cold and maniacal.

Sirius looked stricken, his brow creased in horror. "Okay, Christ. Listen, Harry, whatever happened, we can talk about it, okay? I don't even know you, but we can–"

"What are you even _doing_ here?" cried Harry, tugging at his hair. "You can't be here. You can't just show up like this." He whirled on Teddy. "How could you do this to me? How could– you shouldn't have done this."

"Harry, I'm sorry," whispered Teddy. "I'm so sorry."

As if he'd just remembered something, Harry began to laugh again. "And this, this really is the kicker. You ready for this one? Bill says–" he paused again, slumping against the fridge – "Bill says you two have been _fucking_. I figured you wanted to, Ted, 'cause who doesn't? Who can look at this and not want to?" His voice softened as he gestured at Sirius, his face full of longing. "But you're _actually_ doing it. Ha!" He dissolved into mad laughter again, his hand over his face. "Teddy Lupin and his invisible boyfriend. Maybe he's an Inferius, you ever think of that?" he asked Teddy, his words slurring. "Fucking a dead man. Well, how about that. Don't think I haven't thought about it over the years." He gasped for air, choking down sobs. "Don't think you invented that idea, Teddy, because I'll tell you something, I was sixteen years old when I invented that idea, when I'd wank to pictures of this fucking prick." He raised his head and spread his arms out. "There it is, now everyone knows." Panting, he looked straight at Sirius. "Now _you_ know."

Sirius turned to Teddy. "James's Harry?" he whispered incredulously. When Teddy nodded, slumping back against the kitchen wall in shock, Sirius looked up at Harry. "Sixteen?" he said slowly, stepping forward. "Don't do this," he said at last. "This is mad. I'm not that man you knew, okay? You're pissed, mate. Not thinking straight."

"Straight!" Harry dissolved into giggles again. "I've been thinking nothing but _straight_ since I got married, yeah? So fuck you. Because there wasn't much point in being anything _but_ straight if you were gonna be dead. Did you know that? Yeah. So what? Not thinking straight," he muttered again. Before either Sirius or Harry could respond, Harry ran a hand over his face and then launched himself at Sirius, pressing him back against the kitchen wall. "Never thought straight around you," he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper. He buried his fists in Sirius's t-shirt and pulled his mouth in close, pausing with their lips only inches apart. "Never wanted anyone but you, my whole fucking life."

He framed Sirius's face with his hands and held him in place, his mouth meeting Sirius's with a surprising amount of tenderness. At the first touch of their lips, Harry let out a moaning sob, clutching Sirius close and deepening the kiss.

Aghast, Teddy could only stare from across the room. Sirius wasn't kissing back with much enthusiasm, but he wasn't pushing Harry away, either.

Barely able to think, Teddy summoned his courage and pulled his wand from his pocket. Quickly trying to focus on his memory of his first night with Sirius, the warmth that had filled him body and soul at finally having his heart's desire, he channelled the positive feeling to conjure his Patronus and give it curt instructions before his strength ran out. It ran off into the night, and Teddy slumped back against the wall.

"Harry," murmured Sirius against Harry's mouth, breathless, his hands resting calmly on Harry's shoulders. "Don't do this."

"Please," Harry whispered, kissing him again, and Sirius's eyes fell shut.

A moment later with the swift _crack_ of Apparition, Bill landed in the room to find Harry still grasping Sirius's shirt, his face wild as he turned to face the new threat.

Quickly appraising the situation, Bill's shoulders sagged. He rubbed at his forehead, glancing over at Teddy. "You called?" he said at last, frowning.

Miserable, Teddy could only gesture vaguely at Harry and Sirius. With one palm against Harry's chest now, Sirius was trying to hold him back, his face drawn with sadness. Harry, for his part, was studiously ignoring Bill, his hands moving up and down Sirius's shoulders, pausing occasionally to slide up to caress his cheek.

"Harry," said Bill quietly, crossing the room and placing a firm hand on Harry's shoulder.

"No," insisted Harry like a petulant child, shaking him off. "He's mine now. I get to keep him." His words slurred badly.

"Harry, it's not him. This is not the man you knew," insisted Bill.

Wild-eyed, Harry whirled on Teddy. "That's your fault, isn't it?" he growled. "Had to make a twenty-one-year-old. Well, make him older!" He banged his fist on the counter, breathing hard. "Get out that fucking book of yours and draw him at thirty-five, Teddy. That's who he really was, you know, when he'd been through hell and back and was finally, truly _alive_." He wiped his mouth. "When I told him I'd do anything for him, and he said _no_."

"Harry," began Bill, moving towards him. "Christ, don't do this."

But Harry just shook his head, his face crumpling. "He said I was too young, and your fucking dad, Teddy, that was the only person he ever wanted. That's what he told me. And then he died, and I never, ever stopped loving him." He slid to the floor, his legs splayed wide and his body wracked with sobs.

Teddy's eyes welled up, and he glanced over to find Sirius stepping back into the shadowed corner of the kitchen, his hand over his mouth.

The three men around him stood in miserable silence, looking at neither each other nor at Harry, as the moon rose overhead.

* * *

Bill eventually took Harry home, pausing at the Floo to glance back at Teddy. "I'll be back in the morning," he said pointedly, his gaze shifting to Sirius. He didn't speak again for a long moment, and his meaning eventually crashed over Teddy.

They had one more night.

"If you're not here, and if you don't have that book," Bill added at last, "I swear to God, Teddy, I'll have every Auror in Britain after your arse. Is that clear?"

Teddy nodded, feeling numb. Still clutching the book to his chest, he slowly turned to Sirius, who had a look of pure anguish etched across his perfect features. Teddy's heart ached to see it. He grasped Sirius's hand and led him upstairs, neither of them speaking.

Leaving their clothes on, they lay quietly together on the bed for a long time, smoking and staring at the ceiling.

"I think," said Sirius at last, "that I need to go."

"No," insisted Teddy, sealing his lips and shaking his head back and forth in a desperate rhythm. "_No_. Don't say that. They're going to make me destroy you." His voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "I know they're going to. I _know_ that's what Bill wants. He doesn't care about me, doesn't care about Harry."

"Maybe he cares about me," murmured Sirius, his fingers light in Teddy's hair.

Teddy blinked at him. "What?" He struggled to sit up. "What? You _want_ to leave? They'll destroy the book! I'll never be able to see you again. I'll never– just–" His breath caught in his throat, nearly making him choke. It was too awful to think about. "I'll never see you again," he repeated in a pained whisper.

Sirius didn't respond. He only hushed Teddy with soothing whispers and gentle strokes through his hair, curling up beside him on the bed and draping himself around Teddy's body. Teddy tried to relax, tried to let himself enjoy the feeling of being held by Sirius again, possibly for the last time, but he couldn't. He was angry, a deep, churning rage circling in the bottom of his stomach and beginning to seep out through his body. Tightening his jaw, his stiffened in Sirius's arms, breathing rapidly.

"Don't you ever get tired of losing everyone you love?" he said coldly, turning to lie on his back with his arms folded across his chest.

Sirius was quiet for a moment, then he nudged Teddy with his elbow until Teddy glanced over at him. "I don't know. But I can see that _you_ do. That you're so tired of it you can barely fucking function, Teddy."

"I never even knew them," Teddy shot back, angry.

"Neither did I," said Sirius, his flashing eyes betraying the calm in his voice. "I haven't lost anyone, remember? Where I come from, James and Lily are fine, my brother's an idiot but his heart's still beating, far as I know, and Remus comes home to me every fucking night and makes me tea, and makes me laugh, and makes me moan harder than anyone, _anyone_ else, and–" He paused, steeling himself as he looked at Teddy. "You're the one with something to lose here. Not me."

Tears stinging at the back of his eyes, Teddy jumped up from the bed and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Sirius could close the fucking book himself, then, if that's the way he thought about things.

* * *

Teddy went down to the kitchen and sat in silence, his eyes wet and his entire body feeling wrung out and run over.

He thought of all the people he'd only ever loved through images – his parents waving from beyond a pane of glass; his father's friends clapping each other on the back while hands and feet remained out of frame; his grandfather smiling down at him from above the fireplace.

Then he thought of all the people he'd never loved enough in life – Ginny, Fleur, or even Hermione, who could never replace his real mother; the Weasley kids who were never his real siblings; Victoire, who he constantly pushed away; and especially Harry, neither brother nor father, who he'd never really bothered getting to know as a person in his own right.

_Harry_.

When Teddy was a child, maybe seven or eight years old, Harry had taken him to see Grimmauld Place. It was big and forbidding compared to Gran's comfortable house, and Teddy had sworn the shadows had followed him. Harry had held Teddy's hand as they walked through the gloomy corridors, and he'd pointed things out in a way that made sure Teddy had never forgotten them.

"Up there," Harry had said, "was where the hippogriff lived." At Teddy's wide-eyed stare, Harry had laughed. "A real, live hippogriff! He was the most noble, dignified creature I've ever met. I was frightened of him at first," added Harry, "but as I got to know him, I realised I didn't need to be."

Teddy had nodded, hoping he'd never have to find out if he was a friend or enemy to a hippogriff.

"And over here," Harry had continued, "were the original bedrooms of the house, when the Black family lived here." He'd paused outside a door.

"You lived with a _family_?" Teddy remembered asking.

"Ah. No, not really. I lived here for a time, but–" He'd knelt down beside Teddy. "I had a different sort of family growing up, remember? Your Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, and Grandmother Molly?"

Teddy had nodded solemnly. "Like me."

"Yeah, mate." Harry had clapped him on the back. "Like you. There are a lot of people who love us, even if we don't have a mum and dad. Right?"

"Right." Teddy had clasped Harry's hand. "Harry?"

"Mm?"

"Are we going to live here with the Black family?" Teddy remembered being terribly nervous about the question, convinced, as he and Harry had walked through the old house, that Harry was showing it to him because he would have to live there.

"What?" Harry had let out a surprised laugh. "Don't you like your room at Gran's house?"

Teddy had nodded quickly.

"Then no, we're not going to live here. I just thought you might like to see it." He'd gazed around the dusty hallway surrounding them. "Thought _I_ should see it again – for the last time."

"Is the hippogriff going to live here?"

"No, mate. Not us, and not the hippogriff. No one lives here anymore. I lived here with my godfather for a little while, so I thought it might be nice to come here again, so you can see it with your godfather."

Teddy had tightened his grip on Harry's hand. "Okay."

Harry had sighed. "I loved this house," he'd muttered.

"Then why don't you live in it?"

"I– well." Harry had stood up again, leading Teddy back down the stairs. "Because sometimes you've got to let go of the things you love."

Harry's words hadn't really made sense to Teddy at the time, but somehow he'd always remembered that day, walking through the dim hallways of the creaky old house, clutching Harry's hand. He'd never quite understood why Harry had loved that old house so much – even after he'd sold it that year, Teddy remembered stories of Grimmauld Place peppering many of Harry's conversations – but now, weighed down by the memories in his grandmother's house, he was starting to understand.

* * *

Smiling sadly to himself at the memory, Teddy took a deep breath and headed back upstairs. Hesitating outside his bedroom door, he didn't know if he should hope that Sirius was still there, or hope he wasn't.

Trying to steady himself on his feet, he opened the door and stopped short.

Sirius was still there, all right, and maybe it was the emotional wringing Teddy had already taken that night, but God, Sirius was stunning. He was sitting on the bed in nothing but his underwear, something tight and black that hugged his arse and continued halfway down his thighs. He was sitting cross-legged, leaning back against the headboard with his eyes closed and his hands resting, palms up, over his knees. Meditating, it looked like. He'd lit three candles around the room, and with their yellowed glow bathing his skin and his dark hair framing his face, he looked like a young god watching over the world, at peace with himself and his creations.

Teddy stepped gingerly through the door, suddenly aware that he had no business there, no business trying to hold a god down on earth when he had so much work to do elsewhere, so much to enjoy in other planes of existence. His gaze dropped briefly to his ratty t-shirt and jeans, and his hand rose to comb through his dishevelled hair. _Who am I to try to keep you?_ he tried not to ask himself.

"Hi," he said quietly, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it, the sounds of his own breathing like thunder in his ears.

Sirius opened his eyes but otherwise maintained his pose. He regarded Teddy with a warm if intense look, before unfolding his legs and crawling to the foot of the bed, towards him. "Hi," he said, his voice gentle but with the telltale Sirius Black hint of amusement. "I've been trying to remember."

"Remember what?" whispered Teddy, almost afraid to ask.

"Everything." Sirius rose up on his knees, reaching a hand out for Teddy. "Come here." Closing his eyes and stepping forward, Teddy took it, a soothing surge of relief flaring through his body.

Whether it was because of the sheer magic radiating off of them from their contact with the sketchbook or something else entirely, Teddy didn't know, but the rest of the night passed in a rush of wonder that Teddy had scarcely dared to imagine before, scarcely dared to hope he'd ever have.

Sirius peeled Teddy's clothes off slowly, exploring every spare inch of skin with his fingers and mouth as Teddy gasped underneath him, trying to will his shaking hands to repay even a fraction of the attentions being lavished on him. His palms slid down Sirius's back, hooking into the remaining bit of fabric of his underwear and pulling it down. With a smirk, Sirius shifted his hips to allow Teddy better access, grinning into his neck and making Teddy blush – even after all this time, even after all they'd done together already.

He felt like a virgin again that night, shy and apprehensive and overwhelmed with desire.

No, not just desire. Something stronger. Something more.

The candles created flickering images on the walls, making a space for their touching bodies to come together against the outline of the wall while also seeming to look away, afford them the privacy of shadowed lovemaking under the cover of a light neither too bright nor too dark. Teddy could see only impressions of Sirius's body, shifting in the light as though coming to life and backing away again with each of Teddy's touches.

They took their time, taking turns lying flat on their back while the other hovered over them, exploring with fingers and mouths over hot skin. They whispered together, shared secret nothings that the shadows swept away as soon as they were spoken, and Teddy began to feel more sure of himself, more alive, than he ever had before. He told Sirius things that night. Threading his fingers through Sirius's dark hair, Teddy told him how he'd always felt alone, neither a Potter nor a Weasley, not a Marauder nor a werewolf nor an Animagus nor an Order member nor even, he said with a laugh as Sirius kissed his collarbone, a Death Eater. He told him how he feared he'd never live up to the standards set by his parents, who had died to make the world a better place, and what had Teddy ever done?

Sirius only hummed at each admission, smoothing his fingers over Teddy's skin and gazing down at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Sirius kissed him that night, more than ever before, couldn't stop kissing him, in fact, with lips soft but insistent and the slow press of his tongue against Teddy's.

Teddy didn't tell him that as far as he was concerned, all of those things he'd been missing, all the loneliness and the questions and the feeling out of place, it all went away when Sirius was there, when Sirius was holding him in his arms and pushing inside him and whispering his name against Teddy's warm skin.

Teddy didn't tell him what love was like, how he was prepared never to close the book again, never to be with anyone but Sirius, no matter what.

He arched his back and raised his arms over his head, grasping the headboard for leverage as Sirius sank inside Teddy's body that night. He pressed Teddy's legs back, folding him in half for a few thrusts before lifting Teddy's legs over his shoulders and planting his palms on the mattress on either side of Teddy's chest. Teddy gazed up at him, lips parted and breath caught in his throat.

"God," Sirius gasped, his hair falling into his eyes and his face colouring with intimacy and exertion. He pushed forward slowly with each thrust, burying himself fully in Teddy's body and letting Teddy feel every inch of him before sliding out again. The slow intensity of it took Teddy's breath away, and his gasps soon filled the room.

"Tell me you'll stay," whispered Teddy, grasping Sirius around the back of the neck and pulling him down for a kiss as his legs fell to each side of Sirius's body.

Sirius kissed him deeply, a groan rising from his throat as one hand came up to caress Teddy's cheek. "Don't talk now," he murmured, his lips soft against Teddy's neck, and then they were quiet, bathed in candlelight and alive with sensation, Sirius pressing so deep into Teddy's body that it made him gasp, choking out low moans across the shadows of the room.

They made love three times that night, by Teddy's count, each act bleeding into the next in his mind. He would lie breathless in Sirius's arms afterwards, sweaty and blissful, dozing off until Sirius woke him again with urgent kisses up his chest. Ignoring the ache of his muscles, Teddy grinned, pressing Sirius down on his back and climbing over top of him. He swept a new dollop of gel up Sirius's prick and then sank down over top of him, taking him in once more and nearly sobbing at the intensity of the new angle. The third time, Sirius opened himself, sprawling on his stomach as the sun crept over the horizon and glancing back over his shoulder with a lock of black hair swept over his brow. Teddy kneeled over him on trembling legs, sliding his thumbs into Sirius's cleft and opening him slowly. After taking his time with his fingers and tongue, memorising every bit of Sirius's feel and taste, Teddy sank his cock inside him, falling over his back and falling in love all over again to the sounds of Sirius's gasps into the pillow and Sirius's fingers scrabbling at the sheets.

He didn't let himself hear the name Sirius whimpered into the pillow, muffled and lonely and begging as Teddy surged inside him. _Remus_, he sobbed.

_Remus_.

When morning came, Teddy opened sleep-crusted eyes to find a sliver of sunlight brushing over candles long burned out, one arm slung across Sirius's chest and a mouthful of dark hair nestled up under his chin. His gaze fell on the open sketchbook on the bureau but soon skittered over it, eager to take in more of Sirius's sun-kissed skin in the light of dawn.

Closing his eyes again, he smiled, at peace for the first time in years.

* * *

"Are you ready?"

Bill's voice was uncharacteristically soft, maybe tempered by Teddy's own uncharacteristic calm about the situation. The late morning light filtered into his grandmother's living room, illuminating Bill, Harry and Victoire. Teddy blinked at them, as if seeing them for the first time, and took a deep breath.

"Do you really think this will do it?" he asked quietly, staring at the book in his hands, open, for the last time, to Sirius's image.

"Hermione's owl arrived last night," said Victoire. "It makes sense, since closing the book doesn't work, and magical fire can be too dangerous to control. I think she might be right about this." She paused. "What do you think, Teddy?"

He looked up at her, surprised to be asked. "I... yeah. I think she's right." He had brought Sirius to life; it would have to be up to him to put him to rest again. He hesitated, though, needing reassurance from one more person.

Harry looked like hell, his jaw covered in rough stubble and his hair dishevelled. When the three of them had arrived, Victoire had whispered to Teddy that Harry had shown up at Teddy's the night before after a spectacular row with Ginny over – well, over everything. She'd heard Bill and Harry talking in low voices after Bill had retrieved him from Teddy's, drunk and sobbing.

"Harry?" asked Teddy quietly.

Harry met his gaze, grief shading his green eyes, but he gave Teddy a gentle smile and nodded. "It's all right. We need to do it."

Steeling himself and blinking away the tears rolling down his cheeks, Teddy whispered the charm into the end of his charcoal pencil and began rubbing it over the side of the drawing. The lines slowly faded, beginning with one black boot. He paused. This was much harder than he'd thought it would be.

"Please, Teddy," murmured Harry. "You can do it."

Slowly, he bent the pencil to the page again, erasing more of the image. He dared not look up, fearing the devastation on Harry's face would break his resolve. He worked quickly, steadily up the sketch, tears brimming in his eyes as Sirius faded from the page little by little. When he was done, the page having returned to its original aged yellow with hardly a hint of charcoal remaining, Teddy smoothed his palm over it, wondering if he'd be able to feel a heartbeat.

Without the scratching of his eraser over the page, the room throbbed with silence as they all stared at the empty book. Teddy wondered if this was what his father had felt like, staring at a fluttering veil.

A soft touch at his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts, and he glanced up to see Victoire beside him, her eyes filled with tears as well. She slid her hand up to the back of his neck, stroking his hair, and he dropped his head to her shoulder, sobbing.

Victoire released him after a long moment, kissing him on the cheek and passing him to Harry, who knelt down beside him and enveloped him in a tight hug.

"I know," Harry murmured to him, his fists clenched in the fabric of Teddy's t-shirt. "I know exactly how hard that was." He drew back, pushing Teddy's hair back from his face and looking into his eyes. "_Thank you_," he whispered, before pulling Teddy to him again, an embrace that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

Teddy began to shake his head. "No," he murmured, "no. I'm sorry. Ginny..."

Harry blinked at him before ducking his head. "Ginny and I have had problems for a long time. Sirius probably caused a lot of them, yeah, but not you. Okay?" He sought Teddy's eyes. "It wasn't because of you."__  
  
The following week was spent largely at Shell Cottage, where Teddy, Harry and Bill sprawled over various pieces of furniture in the living room every evening, reminiscing, as best they could, about Sirius and Remus. Teddy heard some stories he'd never heard before, about Bill's moments alone with Sirius at Grimmauld Place during the Second War, and about Harry's mixed feelings about falling in love with his godfather. It was cathartic for all of them, and Teddy clung to their every word, drinking in memories he'd not been part of and trying to talk openly about his own needs for the first time, his own loneliness from never having known them.

At the end of the week, Fleur and Victoire finally halted the flow of beer, ordering the three of them to clean the room up, and repair the well out back while they were at it, if they had so much time on their hands, and de-gnome the garden when _that_ was done.

Stumbling out into the moonlight, Teddy pushed his hands into the back pocket of his jeans and squinted up at it. Behind him, he heard Fleur whispering with Bill.

"Do you think they will be okay?" she murmured.

"Yeah," said Bill, kissing the top of her head. "Gin's going to have my bollocks, I bet, thinking I've talked him into leaving her." He sighed. "But they'll both be better off. And Teddy, well." He paused. "He's made of tougher stuff than he thinks, isn't he?"

She laughed softly. "Just like his parents."

Teddy walked into the garden, his heart lighter than it had been in ages.

* * *

It was time to stop drawing from photographs, trying to capture wisps of memories that didn't belong to him. It was time to create his own, to fill the pages of a new photo album, a new sketchbook, with the people he was going to meet and the things he was going to do.

He glanced down again at the two pieces of parchment in his hand. The first caused his heart to beat a little bit faster every time he looked at it.

_Teddy!_

_It was great to hear from you. I saw Janine Wilson a few weeks back, and she mentioned you might be interested in getting together. I admit, I thought she was drunk and a bit mad at the time, but I'm glad she was right. How about Friday night at the Crown of Thorns? You can draw something for me on a cocktail napkin, and then I can sell it for a fortune when you're famous._

_Say, 9:00?_

_Eamon_  
  
The second was an address, scribbled in Victoire's elegant writing to accompany the newspaper clipping she'd given him:

_WANTED! ARTISTS OF UNUSUAL TALENT AND UNFLAPPABLE MORAL FIBRE!_

_Ever wondered why the Wizengamot does not allow photographers in its hallowed halls? WHAT ARE THEY HIDING? They allow sketch artists, though, and that's where YOU come in! The Quibbler is looking for a few good witches and wizards, artistic talent a must, with experience drawing AT LEAST four types of supernatural plant species and one type of Death Eater profile. BONUS PAYMENTS for those who can render a proficient likeness of the Minister himself OR his talking plant._

_GIVE QUIBBLER READERS WHAT THEY WANT: THE TRUTH BEHIND THE WIZENGAMOT!_  
  
It wasn't a career, exactly, but it was a start. Shaking his head and smiling, Teddy pocketed both notes. He grabbed his new sketchbook and a handful of pencils, opened his window, and threw them over his head to the roof. Crawling up after them, he settled over the rough tiles with his back to the chimney. He took a deep breath, absorbing the quiet of the night and the freshness of the air.

An image of Sirius Black wafted into his mind, swaggering towards him with a look of pure mischief on his face, and for a moment, Teddy's heart ached. He wondered if this was how his father had felt after losing Sirius – either time. Teddy guessed that Harry was right: there wasn't a person alive who had ever encountered Sirius Black and had not left the experience profoundly changed. It was his way, Teddy decided, to leave as large an imprint on the world as he could before disappearing like a puff of smoke.

Beneath the melancholy, though, under the layers weighing down on his heart, it occurred to him that in a perverse way, he now had something bone-deep and life-altering in common with his father, at long last: they had both loved, and lost, Sirius Black.

He allowed himself to think that over for a moment before rolling his eyes and laughing softly to himself. That, he decided, was terrifically fucked up. He'd have to look for something else to have in common with his father, and if he couldn't find anything, he'd have to simply live his own life. Like Harry always said, Teddy's father, and mother for that matter, would be proud of him no matter what. The words had sounded so hollow to him as a teenager, but now they were starting to make sense.

Gazing out at the night sky, he tilted his head and began to filter out distractions, focusing only on the scenes in front of him and what they might mean on the page. He took a deep breath, adjusted the pencil in his hand, and began to draw.

* * *

Up in Andromeda's attic, a broken old Remembrall sat in a box amid photos, clothing and a couple of quills. Undisturbed for twenty years, its magic bled throughout the box, flashing all sorts of inappropriate comments about '70s glam heroes. Depending on the angle at which one tilted the ball, one might end up with a scarf that thought it was a peacock, a quill with amnesia, or – and this one might sound more familiar – a magically altered homework book that couldn't quite decide whether it wanted to remember... or forget.

 

-fin-

 

Note:  
The scene in which Sirius realises his own future death had prompted Teddy's obsession owes a debt to a scene in midnitemaraud_r's wonderful fic, _Rise from the Ashes_. No idea-infringement is intended.


End file.
